Native Voice

I face a mirror to speak Chinese,
A park has its own Winter,
I switched on the music,
In Winter there are no flies,,
Leisurely I cook the coffee,
Flies do not know what homeland is,
I added some sugar,
Homeland is a kind of native voice,
At the other end of a telephone line,
I heard my fear.

(translated from poem 鄉音by Bei Dao)
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