he is trapped in a hexagonal prism
it’s not obvious as a hamster wheel
he thinks he is going somewhere
for it stops and starts
at the edges
he wonders
why
he is tired of going uphill
why
he feels nothing at the peak
why
his tomorrow feels just like
yesterday’s old socks
he is trapped to live his life
through the prism of
what he lacks
(Image by Josh Knight)
This poem was first posted on 29 November 2018
rushing rain
twirling dust
wind, the ballerina
orchestrates the masterpiece
consoles my sleepless nights
soothes me with sweet dreams
破天急雨
Shhh!
Morning glow
Through window panes
Pitter patter pitter patter
The city bathing in rain
Polishing dust off her glowing skin
Tiresome is the watchman captured by cloudburst
Retreating from his misty hazel orbs
Sighing for a sleepless night
Dribble bubble dribble bubble
Faint neon lights
Wake up
Halt!
听
窗外
晨曦里
淅淅沥沥
洗涤着城市
好让尘埃松軟
如望雨人的疲憊
消退满眼朦胧
叹一宿无眠
点点滴滴
夜域里
梦外
停
Reading biography and erotica
is the polar opposite.
The former
condenses a whole long life
into a bound book.
The later
inflates a five minute act
to an eight pages ramble.
You now see
why I love reading biographies
and
why I feel so ripped off
by erotica.
😁
It’s ok to feel sorry for yourself.
But don’t allow youself drown in self-pity.
It’s ok to find comfort in others once in a while.
But don’t mistake it to be the only way out.
It’s ok to hate the offense others committed.
But don’t think for a while they should be hated too.
It’s ok to express anger.
But don’t let anger become your master.
Love is always the antidote.
Love saves one another.
Like many things in life,
writing is a decision.
I recently came to this conclusion.
I am not a writing genius,
among many others.
The seed of writing
didn’t just grow
without labour
or care.
Sowing, nourishing, attending
before its flourish,
there has been little sign of beauty.
Many times,
I wanted to give up
and give in.
I questioned myself,
‘Is this worthwhile
if I never see the bloom?’
But,
what is the alternative?
There was this tiny seed,
how could I abort a life?
I got scared
when I saw him
smacked our cat
and kicked the neighbour’s dog.
The punishment just
didn’t fit the crime.
The most hurtful attack
is your silence
The most loving gesture
is also your silence
It is in the things
we don’t want to do
we build characters
It is in the things
we love doing
we excel
Why can’t he just love me
love me just being me
whingy, whining, insecured me?
The little girl inside sobs.
Well sweetheart,
he is not your father
nor God.
Uncontional love
is just off the table
and off limits.
Flicker of Thoughts 