Beauty
Atop the curved lines that measure age, and hoary flocks that weigh wisdom,
Beauty, defined differently in each tribe,
It may be colours on a spectrum, or words on a hide,
From buxom corpulent queens of Arabia,
And midnight blooming plump peaches of Africa,
And full moons with delicate crystal wings of Asia,
To ashen beanpoles fair as the sun,
That turns colourful beauties into one,
Chosen as the measure of all wonder, a factor of leisure deemed under,
What whites want or like, forced unto us we all shall surrender,
But as they try to make us monochrome, assimilated and acculturated at home,
Know that we are woven as the silk road, that connects us like arteries to our hearts,
like the story of an Arabian man, lost in a mirage, trying to find love in a foreign land, moving through Tianshan mountains and naming stars, drawn to her ever-glowing wide eyes,
His horses and camels awaiting, eager for her surprise,
Like flowers to the sun, or dolphins to the sea,
Counting the days for her to say hi,
We’ve worked as bees for her honey,
So we can claim we’ve seen Urumqi.
