feeling – Page 4 – Portrait of Em.

romanticism

gloomy clouds, gray clouds,
crumbled clouds, sad clouds,
walking clouds, angry clouds,
and the wandering clouds;

falling raindrops, cheerful raindrops,
dancing raindrops, naughty raindrops,
and the crying grief raindrops;

warm sun, happy sun, ignorant innocent sun;
lazy water, stagnant water, silently still water;

and the sinking us.

Written on 1 March 2014,
spontaneous outflow of feelings to the contemporary world.

make-a-wish

hello my dear friends
up in the sky,
have you known
what have been happening to our very tiny world?

my world has changed
from a semi-paradise,
a not-very-perfect utopia
into purgatory,
to hell:

the missing flight,
the shipwreck,
the tragic planes,
the crashed trains,
the burning buses,
the cracked roads,
the exploding city,
the killing virus,
the fatal wars,
and all that done by my selfishly self-centered human-fellows.

if i am to wish upon a star,
i pray,
for the peace of the world,
for the happiness of my fellow,
for love,
for respect,
for a better world,
all the very best.

Written on 2 August 2014,
to the people of the world, in memoir of
the missing MH370
the shipwreck in korea
the MH17, AH5017, GE222
the burning buses and crashed trains in china,
the taiwan gas blast,
the murderer ebola in africa, and
all the wars.

mémoire

clutters of thoughts,
crushed feelings,
crashed emotions,

laughter, surprise, sadness,
grief, tears, screams,
moan, mourn, regrets,
creep,

all that come in a sudden
like a flash
at a moment,

too short to be held,
too soon to be understood,
too fast to be remembered,

but this is the way of life, of nature, of world.

Written on 17 February 2014,
In memoir of Mr Mui, a former teacher of mine, who passed away earlier.

us-as-sinners

i am a sinner
no matter what
no matter what
i am a sinner
no matter what

for every line i write
for every word i say
for every stroke i paint
for every suggestion i make
for every clue i give
no one is to hear
to listen
to understand

to the sky
to the sea
to the landfill
to the gutter

better say nothing
better not to think

in a world like this
of ours
we are all sinners

written on 23 Jan 2014

thinking-together

Sloth leads to laziness in thinking and
Living keeps us staying awake.

“Thinking makes you a philosopher?”
— Thinking makes me a dreamer, I say.

“I am living in a dream
Dreams are existing in my life

When, am I awake?
When, am I dreaming?

Walk, Dream, Sleep, Dream, Live.”

You are existing in the dream and
Living in the dream.
For dreams become your reality and you are sleeping within.
So am I.

“I like how our words make a book together.”
Our book is made up of poems,
And our poems paint our dream.
We are the only two dreamy monsters
In this sweet lovely dream.

Written on 31 December 2013, co-poet is Cheron T.
Writing a poem together is fun.

home-coming

Home-coming,

Home-coming,
Right, my home, I am coming.

Here it is,
Quiet and high,
There it is,
Where I sigh,
Yes, I see,
Tides and waterfalls sometimes.

What was blue is now in pink,
What can be seen has all changed (“changed utterly”),
People once loved,
All disappeared and —
(Broken part lies in the deepest point at heart)
I am the only one who came.

The mind is drowning,
My soul is screaming,
Look at me, am I laughing?

Yes it is, it is,
Home-coming.

Written on 7 December 2013,
When I went back to my High-school.

twinkle-twinkle

Dear Twinkle Shooting Stars,
Where you hearts are?
For why have you gone up so far
And jump down like flashes and thunders?

Eyes.
Right, eyes —
Where are your eyes looking at?
Look so distorted and cold,
But sweet like sugar
Bitter like poison
And sour like the juice of a lemon;
Look so warm,
Yet feel so cold.

Dear Twinkle Shooting Star,
In love you are?
For love is like you, Shooting Star,
Once fell,
Can never go back at all.

Written on 24 November 2013.

frozen

You can only feel cold
When you have a warm heart;
When the heart is iced
And is as cold as the air,
Nothing can be felt.

Frozen heart,
Iced heart,
Frosted heart.

I do not feel cold for now,
For my heart is as cold as the autumn wind.

I am not cold,
I am not cold,
At all.

Written on 14 November 2013.
Only when you admit that your are shallow,
And that you are too old to know everything,
You are capable of, and qualified for knowing more.

think

Am I thinking too much?
Maybe, or should be;
I am told that
“Maybe you are thinking too much sometimes?”
“Oh, am I?”

Maybe.

I cannot get out of the thinking-sea,
I enjoy —
I hate, but I like.

Yet how much does “too much” stand for?
I do not know.
Perhaps I will know some day:
When the wall collapse,
When the bones fall,
When the heart is pressed and squeezed and burst,
By the heavy thinking burden.

Thinking,
This is how a poet is like.

Wind,
On wind, the freezing wind.
Wandering around,
Blowing around.

I am here, in the wind,
Chilling my fingers,
Freezing my nerves,
I am in the wind,
In the wind of thoughts and feelings and everything else.

Tide,
On the tide, the wavy tide.
Swimming back and forth,
Shivering hard.

I am drowned in the tide,
It squeezes my mind,
Wrinkled my skin,
Blind my sight.

Written on 13 November 2013, at the seaside near my home.

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.