Poetry: Workers in Developing Countries

The Factory Girl

From the damp, dirty hallway,
From the long lines of the cafeteria,
From the rumble of the machines and the unbearable factory noise,
The daylight drifts by, the starlight drifts by.
Forever crying on the production line,
The Factory girls endure exhaustion and hardship.
Every peaceful, lonely night,
The factory girl is bursting with long for her village
And she can hear the sweet call of the mountain goat.
She dreams about the soft, warm bend of her mother's arm,
And she can smell the sweetness of the old, secluded garden.

-Nanfei



Like a factory worker

I cut off my long hair
Short to the roots
Mali Zhe saw it
Patted me and said
Oh my, your head is truly ugly
Like that of a factory worker
I became quite sad
Not for my head
But for the factory workers
For the workers who were leaders in all
I was like a real worker
Glanced in the mirror
The reflection of myself in a desperate state
My hair short and messy
My forehead and face adopted a few new lines
The autumn wind encircles me again
Exposes my ever so trend-setting scalp
As it shivers in currents of cold

-Li Wei