In Beijing one cannot see
longer than thirty yards:
the devil's breath fell down
on that ancient unlucky land.
once, we could at least shoot,
with bows and crossbows,
arrows and darts against
the Mongolian invaders:
today, on the contrary,
there is no defense at all
against the impure priests of Money,
who have no further purpose
than its cancerous growth.
so, what matters if very soon
we shall all die of emphysaema
with our lungs corroded
by the rage of the red smog:
what really matters is the percentage
of the Gross National Product growth!
any other consideration
is only romantic nonsense:
better dead than poor,
so long as closed
in a coffin duly lined
with banknotes of legal tender.