This poem comes from a different forum, WanWei. It’s written by a student remembering his escape from Six Four.
how I spent tens of hours on the edge of life and death, I was already
unable to remember clearly, but
the “pai-pai” sounds of the assault rifles I could remember;
the bright purple flames of fire from the assault rifles I could remember;
perhaps I should thank the guerilla war movies, climbing on trains was a skill,
finally useful during my escape.
as the train drove past the Yangtze river,
i signed deeply,
i was a fortunate survivor: escape disaster, fortune must follow,
when i jumped down from the train, it was about 4 in the morning.
i shrank in a corner of the train station’s square,
endured my life’s coldest, longest, most desperate two hours,
exactly what happened, i had forgotten, but i wanted to go home, and
only one more hour by car.
i got on the first bus,
the last row,
not many people, only 20 or so, all farmers and local peddlers,
but the last person, attracted my attention,
glasses, skinny, wearing dirty shirts and pants, a face full of fatigue,
simply a copy of me!
the difference was, his eyes still flashed brightly.
the bus started to move,
i sank into dazed silence,
suddenly a fervent voice spread out,
we have been cruelly oppressed,
but we absolutely will succeed,
the people are standing with us,
rise up and overthrow dictatorship,
democracy and freedom must win!
i felt a little panic,
it felt as if i didn’t know where my body was,
was it a dream,
was i being interrogated,
was this still Fuxin Gate?
i prepared my wildly beating heart,
that crisp and ear-piercing gun shot.
but, what i heard instead was:
“why are you causing trouble?”
“we’re finally living a good life, and you just won’t let us?”
“government is right, no chaos.”
a few impatient peasants and peddlers angrily blamed those glasses.
i let my breath go, and went into a deep sleep. Six Four’s early bus, i
will wake up, and face a new day.