The Dragon Is Sad; The Dragon Is Ill Poem by Dr Ronnie Bai

The Dragon Is Sad; the Dragon Is Ill —

The dragon is sad; the dragon is ill —
No one would need its paper making twill
For shiny sheets in bound and covered form
To transport human knowledge and wisdom,
But in thick stacks of hell bank notes smoking
In front of its cold marble head stones burning
To bribe the underworld ferry-boat man
For having paid not enough as live man.

The dragon is sad; the dragon is ill —
No one would need its woodblock printing mill
For true history of rebellious poor peasants
Overthrowing emperors, kings, and tyrants,
But for forged records of the Overlord lying
Who was a bandit king fleeing and hiding
Whose crown bestowed by beguiled peasants
Who were to get no promised bread baskets.

The dragon is sad; the dragon is ill —
No one would need its north-south telling skill
For vaster worlds of life changing chances
To seek wonders of wonderful golden fleeces,
But for fancy fengsui of new estates
Driving peasants off their land in transits
Migrating north, south, east, west, and back
Shuddering like slaves at th' Party whip's crack.

The dragon is sad; the dragon is ill —
No one would in front of gunpowder kneel
For unmanned drones and laserguided missiles
Have it overhauled by ten thousand miles,
But at the puffed paper tiger's funfair
Where the best use it has to dazzle and scare
Boys and girls, but cats and dogs to excite
Wasteful thunderclaps to blast th' dead quiet night.