
Merry Christmas 2024


She got the news that her abuser died in peace after had been bedridden for ten years.
All the pots and pans were swept off the kitchen bench. The noise echoed off the tile floor. She torn the t-shirt that she was wearing, exposing her flesh. She gripped her hair with both hands until she felt the pain of her scalp. Thumping her fists on her thighs like a downpour.
She was angry. She was savagely angry.
You didn’t deserve to die. Died in peace? What’s that? What is that? You scum of the earth didn’t deserve to die. You deserved to rot in your own putrid karma. I deserve to die. I deserve freedom. I deserve innocence. Your death robbed me of everything, everything!
She felt empty after emptying out all her rage. Desolate, numb, nothingness, still haunted.
Wisteria in late spring
Lilac purple like your heart
Falling
Falling
Embroidering the front lawn
You won’t leave now
You can’t
Your heart embedded in our garden
Will rot with my tears
Or burn in the summer sun
The Living Poetry prompt – Flustered
3pm is the worst time to start rearranging the pantry
Remove all the bits and pieces
Check expiry date and discard
Clean all shelves inside the panty
Clean pantry doors and frame
Clean all bottles, jars, packets, tins and cans
Recategorise all bits and pieces
Children have just came home from school wanting snacks and drinks among the chaos
Feeling flustered and losing control
My blood is boiling, scalp is heating up
Shouting, “Pack your bags and go back to school!”
Children stop
Then bursting in laughter, “Mum, you are losing it.”
“People are not what they say but what they do.”
Often our emotions and feelings deceive us. We put our logic aside.
We will be brianwashed if we don’t look beyond the slogans or intentions, to see the proof or evidence.
If we were presented a future but there are no concrete steps on how to get there, it’s merely an illusion. Marketing sells an illusion rather than reality. It’s wise to not fall into the trap.
History will tell.
If I am asked to explain myself to you,
you don’t know me as much as you thought.
Poetry is a redundant trade.
Freedom of speech is a lost expression.
Little do I have to say.
Silence is my every word in protest.
I had no idea till you told me that you had cried for over a year for the filth and shame happened in the old house which was covered in ivies.
I had no idea till you told me that you decided to break the silence because you couldn’t bear to see your son withering away with collapsed veins.
I had no idea till you told me about the sin and crime committed for three generations still robbing you and your children of a chance of peace.
I had no idea…
Now I understand why you appeared to be over sensitive, defensive, jumpy and sad all at the same time.
Now I understand why every time I saw you off, your silhouette in the street light is always frail and heavy laden.
Now I understand.
*This piece is written based on The Living Poetry prompt word – Silhouette
Leaving means I love you, but I love myself more.
春天
我踩着绒雨
向山里走去
脚下的黄泥
混着树的翠绿
沉淀着天的灰蓝
故人的墓地
栖息在满地的黄菜花
我舍不得扒开
这么娇美的装饰
就如你出嫁时的抚媚
你洞房的红烛还在弦乐舞蹈
我按住竹篮里的沉檀香和衣纸
害怕美好的回忆被打扰
更怕我的眼泪勾出安息的你
In spring,
I walked on the velvety rain and headed for the mountains.
The yellow mud under my feet mixed with the green of the trees and the gray-blue of the sky.
The grave of an old friend was covered with yellow flowers.
I couldn’t bear to tear them apart.
Such a beautiful decoration reminded me of your wedding day.
The red candles in your bridal chamber were still dancing with string music.
I pressed the sandalwood incense in the bamboo basket.
I was afraid that the beautiful memories would be disturbed.
I was even more afraid that my tears would evoke you who was resting in peace.