A Tale of Two Cities Supporting Xinjiang

A month later, the poetry collection "The Sentiments of Young People in Liaoning" was officially published.

The cover is light blue, with the outline of the Tianshan Mountains on the left, ocean waves on the right, and a handwritten title in the middle.

The first print run of 5,000 copies sold out in a week.

When the publisher reprinted the book, they asked if we wanted a deluxe hardcover edition.

On behalf of the editorial board, Professor Chang Peng replied: "No need. We'll keep it paperback, cheaper, so more children can afford and access it."

The day Reheman received the sample copy, he turned to the title page, where this passage was printed:

"This collection of poems contains no works by famous authors, only the voices of ordinary teenagers."

But these voices are perhaps precisely what this era most needs to hear: about growth, about friendship, and about the simplest yet deepest love for one's motherland.

He hugged the book tightly to his chest.

The news of the publication of the poetry collection "Feelings of Young People in Liaoning" spread throughout the campus like a spring breeze.

But to everyone's surprise, an even bigger surprise was yet to come.

One afternoon in early March, teacher Guzalinur rushed into the studio holding a newspaper, her voice trembling with excitement: "It's in! Our poem has been published in the Xinjiang Production and Construction Corps Daily!"

Abudu was cutting fabric when he almost cut his hand with the scissors.

He took the newspaper and immediately spotted a familiar title in the "Youth Corner" section on page four—"A Dialogue Between the Cotton Field and the Sea," by Abudu.

Below is Chen Hao's "The Promise at the Foot of Tianshan Mountain," and turning the page, you'll find Reheman's "My Two Hometowns," as well as five other works.

The eight poems took up half the page.

"The newspaper editors even added an editor's note," Teacher Gu said, pointing to a line of text at the very top of the newspaper.

Abudu read aloud softly: "These poems from teenagers in Xinjiang and Dalian, with their sincere emotions and unique perspectives, vividly depict the interactions, exchanges, and integration among various ethnic groups in the new era... They are moving and heartwarming to read."

The studio was silent for a few seconds, then erupted in cheers.

Tursun snatched the newspaper, looked at it closely, and suddenly said, "Wait a minute, why wasn't my poem published?"

He wrote a poem called "Father's Abacus," which used an abacus to describe his father calculating the cotton harvest, and he thought it was a good poem.

Teacher Gu smiled and said, "Don't worry, the editor has already made an exception by selecting eight songs."

Furthermore, they specifically mentioned your essay, "The Bending Cotton Tree," saying it could be adapted into a poem.

"An essay? Adapted into a poem?" Tursun was stunned.

"right."

Teacher Gu took a notebook out of her bag. "I've kept your essay."

Describing your father working in the cotton field, his back bent like a ripe cotton boll, is a particularly good image.

The editor suggested that it could be expanded into a narrative poem.

Abudu's eyes lit up: "Tursun, let's change it together."

You write your father's story, and I'll help you polish it into a poem.

Tursun hesitated for a moment: "I... I don't know how to write poetry."

"Didn't you say you couldn't design?"

Abudu patted him on the shoulder, "Try it, how will you know if you don't try?"

That night, the studio lights stayed on until late.

Tursun read the essay over and over again, while Abudu offered suggestions from the side.

"Here, the father's hands are like old tree bark. That's a good metaphor; keep it."

"I asked him if he was tired, and he said he was used to being too direct. I suggested he ask if he was tired, and he pointed to the sky and said: 'If the sun isn't tired, then I'm not tired.'"

"The ending should have a profound impact; it can't just be about feeling sorry for the father, it should express hope..."

When Tursun was writing the tenth draft, he stared at the sentences on the paper and suddenly said, "I remember what Rehman said—knowledge can make you stand tall."

Abudu slammed his hand on the table: "Use this! The ending will say, 'I will use knowledge to make all the bent cotton plants straighten their backs!'"

The poem has been revised, and the title will be "The Bending Cotton".

Abudu felt that wasn't enough, so he contacted Chen Hao in Dalian: "Do you have any classmates who can compose music? Let's set this poem to music and add music when we recite it."

Chen Hao acted quickly, sending a demo three days later—a piece composed by a female music student, with simple guitar accompaniment and a simple yet moving melody.

The first rehearsal for the recitation with musical accompaniment was held in the school's small auditorium.

Tursun stood on the stage, looking at the empty seats below, his palms sweating profusely.

"Don't be nervous, just talk like you normally do," Abudu encouraged from the audience.

Music begins, with the soft, gentle sound of a guitar.

Tursun took a deep breath and spoke:

September, the season when cotton bolls burst open.

Father's back was bent like a bridge.

This side of the bridge is land, and the other side is me...

His voice gradually calmed down.

When reciting "I will use knowledge to straighten up all the bent cotton," the voice suddenly rose, carrying an undeniable power.

As the recitation ended, the last note of the guitar faded away.

In the audience, Teacher Gu led the applause, his eyes welling up with tears.

"Great! That's wonderful!"

She stepped onto the stage, saying, "This poem should be spread so that more people can hear it."

The publication of this poetry collection in the Corps Daily also drew the attention of other media outlets.

The Xinjiang Daily reprinted some of the poems, and the "Youth Theater" program on Xinjiang TV invited the creators to be interviewed.

Even more exciting is that the education bureaus of both regions issued notices to promote the use of "Liaoning-Xinjiang Youth's Affection" as a school-based teaching material for "ethnic unity education" in primary and secondary schools.

Teacher Guzalinur's school took the lead and organized a series of activities.

First, there was a school-wide recitation competition with the theme "Poetry Connects Mountains and Seas, Hearts Turn to the Motherland".

Each class must submit a performance, which can be a recitation of poems from a poetry collection or a newly created work.

Although younger students cannot write complex poems, their paintings are full of childlike innocence.

A third-grade girl drew this picture: on the left is a cotton field, on the right is the sea, and in the middle is a rainbow bridge with two little people holding hands on the bridge.

She wrote next to the painting: "Brother from Xinjiang, sister from Dalian, we are good friends."

The school arranged outstanding paintings and poems together to form a themed exhibition entitled "The Passion of Youth in Liaoning".

The walls of the corridor are covered with artwork, making it the most beautiful sight on campus.

Abudu and Tursun were invited to share their experiences in various classes.

In a ninth-grade Chinese class, the Chinese teacher asked Abudu to talk about his creative experience.

Abudu thought for a moment and said, "I initially wrote poetry because I had something to say."

I want to tell my friends far away what Xinjiang is like; I want to tell my family back home what possibilities lie ahead.

A boy raised his hand and asked, "Brother Abudu, can writing poetry put food on the table?"

A low chuckle rippled through the classroom.

Abu didn't laugh, and answered seriously: "You can't eat it directly as a meal."

But poetry allows people to see beauty, hope, and connection.

Just like our friends in Dalian, we became close friends because of poetry.

This kind of connection is sometimes more important than food.

Another girl asked, "Brother Tursun, is your poem 'The Bending Cotton Tree' really about your father?"

Tursun nodded: "Yes."

My father grew cotton his whole life, and his back is bent from the hard work.

I wrote this poem to tell him that his son is working hard and trying to change his destiny through knowledge so that he won't have to work so hard in the future.

The classroom fell silent.

Many of the children's parents are also farmers, and they understand this feeling.

After the sharing session, the Chinese teacher summarized: "Students, what is poetry?"

Poetry is the voice of the heart.

These older brothers and sisters connected with friends 4,000 kilometers away through poetry; you too can use a pen to express your own voice.

The highlight of the event was the large-scale recitation performance commemorating the unity of Liaoning and Xinjiang.