Wendy Wang
«Two Poems for the Oriental Magpie-Robins», 2025
Since moving to Xinhua Road this year, some birds have begun visiting my window and quietly entered my life.
In the poems I once wrote, birds rarely had names. They were not magpie-robins or light-vented bulbuls, but the shadows of words like loneliness, freedom, lightness, hope, and mystery. They were projections of feeling, not living creatures.
When I truly began to see them, I realized they each have their own species, temperament, colors, rhythms, and small everyday lives. They are no longer symbols of my emotions, but beings with their own time and destiny—strange neighbors who share this world with me.
To write poetry is to let the gaze become less intrusive, and to learn how to coexist with all living things.