feel – Page 2 – Portrait of Em.

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To be or not to be
That is the question
All that we yell or request or want
Is but the dream to be free

Some are far too childish
And some are bit too coward
But we are not rubbish
For you to bully and push us forward

Our city is dead
And the news is to be spread
Democracy is dead
And the news is left unread

Save us
Save our city
Save our democracy
Save our Hong Kong

Which is killed and buried and sad

Written on 28 September
When history repeats itself
When Tiananmen massacre re-happens

like a picture in the sky
where i used to fly
when the clouds are hanging
and the stars shining
and the wind blowing
and the trees clapping
and the children screaming
and the crowd marching
and the sun burning high,
i used to ask “why”.

Written on 14 September 2014.

utopia-?

living in hong kong
is like an ant in the tong —
nothing seems wrong
nowhere to belong.

ages bygone
forcing one to work on,
life is no way to be withdrawn,
the blackened white swan.

From now and then
we cannot stop thinking when
we can stop being manipulated by men,
work and eat and sleep and time and again.

Written on 11 September 2014.

life-in-hongkong

we are born
and grow
and go to school
where we learn to grow
into whom we are
whom we are wished and longed and hoped and prayed
to be;

we grow
into the person
the human-being who has no i:

forced to learn
a whole series of
sports and musiques and languages and arts
and trained to be an obedient quiet nice and kind little kid;

and when the day comes when we are forced to transform and turn
and grow and change into an adult-like being —

rubbish life
earning for life but not living
emptiness in memories of childhood
of fun and habits

and… it is always already too late.

Written on 1 August 2014.

portrait

what would you do, if i
ask you to draw a portrait of me?

i say,
“give me three minutes,”

right — three minutes has gone
and here, i am done.

miraculous artist am i!
marvelous, oh i am!

laugh, as you like,
and i know, for sure, i am right.

Written on 24 May 2014.
when a poet draws.

conversation

In response to Octavio Paz’s “A Tree within”.

no i cannot,
i think i cannot,
and i found i cannot.

blind eyes,
deaf ears,

for the world has long become ignorant and arrogant
and the fire of passion
is put off —
dim and dark
and the blood is stagnant
and cold and bold and dead

for the gap between us
is too far to be skipped

the tree within is a tree within,
without branches to touch and to stay in touch with
without being noticed

come closer, can you hear mine?

no you cannot.

Written on 24 Jul 2014.

to-the-pessimist

hi me, dear pessimist,

i know well, from the start of my life-as-a-poet,
that i am
born to be deprived.

for life is given
with presumptions:
as an investment tool,
as a tree of money and golds,
and the rights are given
on the basis of lies,
to calm you down, to incept, to brainwash, to renew, to build a self
in the world of craziness.

this is the paradise —
our city,
the post-colony,
the international hub of world’s economy,
the stepping stone,

to a greater world.

born to be deprived — this is our lives.

Written on 20 May 2014.

sight-of-spring

quiet leaves falling
like snowflakes
like raindrops
like feathers
unstrung, untangled, unrestricted.

lifeless living branch
stagnant moving trench
trough.

Written on 28 April 2014.

congratulations

robotic mechanics melancholy
work work work
relationships faces money skills strengths abilities
forever deferral of the dream-come-true

totalitarism
right to speak
right to seek
right to think
and right to act

time to close the eyes and die
congratulations

welcome to the world of insanity

Written on 26 April 2014
Upon graduation from the University — shelter of youth and dream and viva

ration-ale

everything happens
for
a reason,
but you do not
need
a reason
for
something
to be happened.

Written on 7 March 2014.

Tag: feel