emmalhy

mir-rage

Written on 7 November 2013,
On the truth-ness of words.

va-len-tine

“Call me but love”,
Call me but love:
The path may be rough,
The road may be tough,

Yet having you with me, it is enough.

Make little wish to the dancing shooting star,
Heal the old wounds, and
Forget the old scars;
And the moment will last forever, and ever,
The tiny seed of our love will blossom into a miraculous flower, and
Give us the power.

Written on 14 February 2014,
To mine,
A little love poem
For the celebration of Valentine’s Day.

Happy Valentine’s Day 🙂

good-old-days

Good Old Days —
Sweet memories,
Great time,
Captured moments,
passed years.

Laughter,
Cry,
Hunger, and
Anger,
Nothing left but mourn,
Nothing lasts but change.

Screams,
Screams,
More S-cream-sss,

In the sea of time,
In the tide of growth,
Tired of the present,
Sick of thinking about future,

And therefore, wishing for the passed, again!

Merrily, merrily, merry;
Hopelessly, hopelessly, HOPELESS.

Good Old Days,
Slipped Old Days,
The always-perfect-old-days.

Written on 29 October 2013,
When everyone is talking about the good old days.

Stay awake to dream.

pho-enix

“Phoenixes burst into flame
when it is time for them to die, and
are reborn from the ash.”
You said.

Only if it could.

Perish,
when it is about time;
turning into ash,
to dust, and to dust, then into dust;
go back to the ground,
to the earth.

And all pray,
hopefully,
for the great return,
for the great reborn.

And all wishing to be the phoenix:
dead, and reborn;
dimmed, and relight;
vanished, and reappear;

Yet all
remained as ash.

Hopelessly perish alone.

The dark gutter,
The lonely gutter.

Written on 25 October 2013,
An inspiration from a sentence from my love — about phoenixes.

lock-ed-ing

I hear the moan of the gentle wind,
I hear the heartbeat of the falling leaf,
I hear the breath of the dead air,
I hear the weep of the stagnant water,
I hear the dance of the naughty raindrops,
I hear the cry of the stormy tide,
I hear the song of the butter-fly,
I hear them all —
The sound of silence.

But I am locked here,
Scream, cry, fear, screech,
What should be heard left unheard,
What should be said stay untold.

Silence,
Silence,
Silence,

I am locked,
In the darkness of the night,
In the shade of the dawn.

Written on 17-18 October 2013,
Inside the bathroom in my flat.

I got locked inside the bathroom at 2am, for 6 hours I stayed inside,
And my Dad pacing nervously on the other side of the door.
It is the first time I slept inside the bathroom,
No smartphone, no iPad, no laptop, yet
I did not feel scared after all,
It is indeed a memorable funny experience —
Writing a poem inside a toilet.

dr-own

I am drowning in this shallow little pond,
Where dead leaves float upon,
Where The Frog King sleep beneath,
Here I am, drown.

The fatal little pond,
Where the dead souls mourn,
Where my heart is buried,
Here I am drown.

Snow-white and Rose-red,
The Dead Girl stands
On the loose sand,
The harder she steps,
The faster she falls,
She wants to go, I know,
But she could not — never.

The Cruel little pond,
Locked here the poor young lady,
Water coming down the rose-red cheek,
Nothing can be done,

But Wait:
Waiting for a change,
Waiting for a ray from the stars,
Waiting for the lasting sleep.

Here it is,
The shallow little pond,
Washed wisdom,
Wiped humour,
Cleaned knowledge,

Drown.

Dear shallow little pond,
How many else will be drown?

Written on 15 October 2013.

sea-side

Here we are,
All alone,
Forever alone.

Lie there the old, forgotten bowl,
Alone for years, or one maybe,
Once used for breakfast, luncheon and supper,
Until it can hold nothing.
Lying alone,
Forever alone.

At the sea side, I saw
Not only the old forgotten bowl,
But also the newly bought toy car.
“A young boy left it here,” I was told.
Forgotten car,
Forgotten childhood,
Forgotten innocence.
Nothing but memories are left with it —
Old memories, no longer fresh,
Stagnant.
Who knows who its owner was,
Who knows why He left it here,
Who cares —
And here it lies,
Lying alone,
Forever alone.

And I saw the broken beer bottles,
Once They chatted together,
Holding the beer,
Cheers and cheers, they went,
Now nothing but the bottles left.
How many broken hearts they had comfort,
And how many they saw are healed.
There they are,
Lying alone,
Forever alone.

And the lighthouse,
Here it stands,
Days and nights.
Guiding the lost boats,
Greeting the large ships,
But how many do care here it stands?
Here it stands,
Standing alone,
Forever alone.

And here We are,
Family and Friends,
Siblings and Lovers,
We play, We talk, We walk,
But how many do understand
The underlying world of darkness
Hiding beneath the fragile heart —

Here we are,
All alone,
Forever alone.

Written on 13 October 2013,
In Lei Yue Mun, Hong Kong.

Seeing the forgotten, worn-out pieces of memories on the beach next to the old lighthouse.

in-side

my throat is burning,
my soul is screaming,
Tell me —
what am i doing?

and somehow
i feel like i’m floating,
i walked
as if i am flying

not in the sky,
not on the ground,
neither the heaven nor the hell
purgatory perhaps.

Tell me —
what am i doing.

i talked to no-one,
and no one does care;
i smiled to some-one,
some-one who has vanished.

Tell me —
what am i doing.

there are something to do,
i know, for sure.
i want to do it,
but i could not make it.

the woodpecker inside me,
the devil inside me,
the soul —
i am not sick,
i am not sick,

not at all.

what am i, then, doing now?
no one could tell
no one would tell,
and no one should.

my throat is burning,
my soul is screaming,
Tell me —
what am i doing.

just perhaps,

eyes wide open,
yet i see nothing.

Written on 13 October 2013,
In Lei Yue Mun, Hong Kong,
When I have just started working on my dissertation on “Deadly Sins in Fairytales”.

Something is changing inside me.
Something is collapsing.
But I love the feeling.

stor-m

Love is a glue,
Gluing two together;
When it melts,
Love cannot be felt.

We are individuals after all,
Who can be sure
The star of love will never fall?

I am not you,
And you are not me,
Only when you believe,
There is a “we”.

Love is a ship.
When the storm comes,
It just could not escape:
Eaten by the tides,
Washed by the waves,
Or end up, perhaps, in the stomachs of the whales.

Pale is the lip,
Love falls asleep,
The sailors leap.

I told you how I feel,
But if you do care,
You will try to feel
and heal;

You said you cannot understand,
Yet,
If you wish to understand,
You will;
But if you —

You will never know.

Written on 27 September 2013.
Love brings colours to the world, feelings to the Earth.
Grey is the background colour of my lovely little world.

I know I am a masochist, falling in love with my wounds.
For a poet is someone who feels the world with all his heart,
portrays the world he feels in his every great piece of work,
every choice of words.

me-rry

You are on a merry-go-around,
But it suddenly drops you to the ground —
You cry for help aloud,

But still —
You cannot be found.

You are drowned.

Merry-go-around,
Hang there the coldly smiled,
quiet and haunted,
merry! go around.

Written on 25 September 2013.
Inspired by a Billboard in Kwun Tong, Hong Kong.