Tibetan Pain

Inside Drapchi prison near Lhasa, Chinese guards beat Tibetan nuns and monks with rubber hoses filled with sand.

They applied electric cattle prods to their bodies, sending wire cranked juice through skeletons, extracting screams. Denounce the Dalai Lama, screamed one soldier, a young lackey from Human Province. He tightened metal screws around a woman’s wrists, bending them back at a horrendous angle until she screamed from pain, Never!

He wiped her blood off his broken glasses and increased the pressure. It was a job.

I am doing my DUTY, he screamed.

Save my face, sang a Chinese girl, an innocent victim of the national genocide one-child policy wringing out a mop made of spider webs inside water rainbows.

She languished in a large bland cavern classroom at a private business university in Fujian. It was private because all the students had failed higher level exams for more prestigious universities. They settled for this prison. She cleaned crumbling uneven cement floors with strands doing her Duty.

Beijing operatic actors fashioned death masks for their performance in a funeral formula. 

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