桑树下的恋人 Under the Mulberry Tree

Remember that summer evening
under the mulberry tree
sky full of green and cyan clouds
witnessed our pledge of love
would be like the ripen mulberries

Now I am revisiting the scene alone
the heavy mulberries dangling on my forehead
laughing at my naiveté

We were once young and pure
three decades of success and failure
we are now with silvery temples
our love had long been bruised
like the dark purple mulberries

黑暗的流星 (Meteor Blackout)


I've been searching for the glorious stars in the ebony sky
forgetting the prolonged Southern monsoon season.

When the shooting stars gathered to attract my attention,
I was blind to their unifying light
and missed the splendid meteor.

薰衣草 (Lavender)

He used to bring me lavenders at sunset
The subdued scent lulled me into peaceful sleep
I blushed when dreaming your fingers subtlety brushed my hand
Before sunrise I'd already waited patiently by the window


Melancholy Life

This piece is a translated meaning of Jun’s original poem in Chinese. Jun is a loving husband, a proud father and a successful business man. His love for literature and tea remain throughout his life.

I only know this life even reincarnation may be real. The rain stopped as tears also dried out in my hollow and withered frame. I may sit in solitary and mesmerised by the past. And yet no amount of sweet memory surpasses my speck of reality.

Time drifted away and aged me. I still broadcast my love to the clouds. They echo within the walls of my ears, so loud and clear. But I wake up every morning and experience the same realisation that they are just dreams. I cannot defeat this mundane life. Poetry and prose are my only hope to keep on living.

不论几世仅一生,泪干雨歇花凋零, 重忆情恩俱往昔,柔情蜜意愧真人。 不论光阴岁月残,对云寄语几心思, 回音徒塞两耳鸣,岂知梦醒一场空, 按停时空成俗子,待将余生做愚诗。


(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



Quicksand (流沙)


love is like quicksand
you spend your whole life
try to make the sieve finer
the finer it gets
still, finer is the sand
you can never salvage time
just as
you will never seize love

Distant Future

I have a habit of admiring the cool moonlight
and making plans to visit you.
I am used to measuring my footsteps
to gauge how much I miss you.
The long distant travel doesn’t bother me
as long as I know I get to linger around your scent.
I keep enduring the absence of your love
watching the moon pulls the tide.




A depressed teenager, I was, and insomniac. People came and went like whirlwind on a daily basis which left me dizzy and confused. Music and books were my true friends.

I must have been fourteen or fifteen when I started to write poetry. I produced two poetry collections with themes in love and nature. They were more like scrapbooks filled with hand scribbles, doodles and glued on magazine cut-outs. They were the treasure of my teens, and probably the only treasure I proudly claimed mine.

I had a pen friend, yes, a pen friend. Strong and I shared a common interest in poetry. We had written to each other for over three years. We got to exchange our favourite pieces of own poetry. After so many years, he still kept my correspondence. I am grateful to him because he preserved a few pieces of my poetry from early days.

You may wonder what about those two collections. Well, this is what this short writing about. Be careful where you leave your treasure and who you trust.

My buddy Bupa and I were very close. We talked on the phone for hours every day.  We talked about anything but nothing. In hindsight, they were mostly harmless banter but also completely time wasting. It seemed to me at that time of my lonely years, Bupa was my only trusted friend. When I decided to come to Australia to start a new life, I asked Bupa to keep my two poetry collections for me under lock and key until I returned. He didn’t say no. That was summer in 1998.

In 2014, I finally met up with Bupa and asked him to return my two collections. He told me he didn’t have them anymore. He threw them away because of fear of his wife’s jealousy. I was beyond shocked. The painful realisation of the little worth of our friendship had a secondary effect to the loss of my treasure, the loss of part of me.

In 2018, by blessing I reconnected with my pen friend Strong via social media. He took photos of the poems I sent along in letters to him. That’s how I managed to reunite with my teenage self through those poetry.

Trusting someone who are not trust worthy is a lesson for me to learn.

This short piece has been stewing in my mind for a while. I wanted to be a meaningful piece so I procrastinated. Now I wrote it, it is like a weight off my shoulders. I didn’t realise it bothered me so much. Now this is history, done and dusted.

Here are the English translation for the preserved early pieces:



The Appointment








Beyond Comprehension

A translation of Jun’s poem “未参尽的缘”


She is my past, present and future.
She is the incomprehensible fate of my life and death.
She is my beloved book, read and reread.
She is my root, let love grow deep into the ground.
She is my play pet in virtual world, my queen in reality.
I will turn to dust,
disappearing into the sea of her eyes,
grain by grain,
never give up existing.



她是我的曾经 今世与将来

Suicide Note

I never know if there is a next life. If there is one, will I meet you again? To be honest, I prefer this is the end. Because no matter how sweet our love is, there will be more bile. I am incapable to be a knight to keep fighting for us. So, I choose to be a deserter.

I don’t know how much time do I have to live. I don’t know how long I will go on loving you. I still love how you appear in my mind. I still love your sound especially the way you speak. I even miss your once angry voice. But you are so calm and peaceful these days. And I too, love the content you.

I am willing to be an infatuated man loving you in humble distance. Perhaps for you, I am a masochist, a lower rib, a self fulfilled devastation. There is no time table for our love. Yet, I am counting down the days. I am giving all I can while you know I am a hypocrite.

I am glad that I don’t look forward to the next life. I am satisfied to surrender to a woman like you, a love like us. There are not enough next lives to match this passion, this madness and this loyalty in its totality. I have enough material to write love poetry to make up for the missing kisses and passionate nights.

I walk to the end of my life with worn out shoes in the company of your divine shadow and angelic sound.






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