Old Pair of Hands

Her hands
traveled a great distance in time
from her mother’s nourishing bosoms
led by her father’s sturdy palms

Her hands
was given away to a trustworthy man
whose gentle touch unlocked her heart
overflown with joy

Her hands
were latched on by tiny fingers
fragile and angelic
never ever letting go

Her hands
traveled afar in the land
from the touch of life giving soil and rain
to the production line and paperwork
the wrinkles told of her life long hard work
the sun spots apprised her of a blessed long life

Logic

If we could change the past
If we could live the same minute twice
Would we?

If the past moment is the best
What is the purpose of living?

If the memory is the most traumatic
Why do we allow ourselves stuck in that?

If free will is the most powerful
Fear is a liar
Clearly we hold the best cards dealt in life

Spare and Share

The Six Sentence Story prompt – Change

Christmas is the celebration of a true King born in a barn. A son was born from wedlock.

All the Christmas decorations are up and in grand display. It grieves me to walk the hussle bussle street in twinkling lights and watch ashen faces begging for spare change. I often wonder is the spare change you ask for, or the human love you call me to share.

‘I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.’ – Matthew 25:40

Yellow Butterfly

I can fly
I can hide
I can never say goodbye

Old school photos appear at night
Like yellow butterflies
I am so scared to blink too fast
You are gonna disappeare into the night

I can fly
I can hide
I can never say goodbye

Why does time seem so cruel
Never stops for my will
I am always chasing you
Somehow
I’ll never gonna turn back the time
We spent in moonlight
In sunshine
In starry sky

I can fly
I can hide
I can never say goodbye

Lyrics Without Melody

They’re lyrics I wrote for a song unsung
Waiting for birth through the pure strings you play
Purified by the fire of your drum beats
They’re stories untold
In too late a Summer
Too early for Fall
I still ring the bells of our love affair
In my dreams filled with passion
I still ring the bells

They’re an illusion of life uninsured
Baiting for foolish souls like us, like us
Mimic every pure intend
Lure us in by nightfall
It’s too late to know
Dreams aren’t for real
I still wrote out the lyrics in blood
Out of a stone heart
Sleep walking in a lonely town
I still created with half a heart
Half a heart too much, too much
These lyrics without melody
Unsung songs fading in the back alley
Untold stories dying, dying, dying
La la la la la…

Elegy

it is written in sign language
anxious words spilled on the page
like crawling ants
sweeping the sadness away in stanzas
vine leaves left between the pages
holding each memory
in a string of fading yellow hues
tears soak through the book covers
bleeding in mute replay
to earn the applause
of the reader

Fast Forward Button for Failure

I don’t understand
Why we can be so stuck
In our failures
Unable to let them go
Refuse to let them hinder
Our present
And beyond

I imagine
The purpose of
Over drinking
Is to numb the pain
The humiliation
So we don’t feel
So we still have hope
Then why
Go back to lick up
The putrid vomit
To experience
the unwanted pain

We are complicated
Contradictory
As humans
Sometimes
Beyond our logical mind
Undeniably insane
We are

Circle

She smiles

A smile melts icy tears

Tear stricken eyes, he glances over

Over her spring blossom face

A face no man can turn away

Away from pain, she is calling

A call for home coming

Coming home to her

She smiles

Nip It in the Bud

3Lt extra virgin olive oil was on special
One for each hand to strike a balance
for my sore back

Financial saving and health
were the two birds I hit
with one stone

I wasn’t sure
was it Christmas shopping frenzy
or me in shabby clothing
plus 100% Chinese looking
earned the deadly stares
from a few fellow shoppers

I was tempted to grab
a couple packs of toilet paper
to balance on my head
just to be spiteful
or make a point

The righteous spirit in me
saved me from the seemingly
benign beginning of a racial war
in the year of the pandemic