poet – Page 8 – Portrait of Em.

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.

horr-or

Wrinkles on the pretty mirror:
Who knows — about the underlying horror?

closed chamber
dimmed cigar
faded star
unhealed scar

The mirror of water
with its image hovers
and repeated over
over
and over
Yet covered
by the most pretty bloody flower…

Written on 18 September 2013.

Serendipity and Ice Harvesting, Revisited (19thcenturywellington.wordpress.com)

janet

“Selfishness is not living as one wishes to live, it is asking others to live as one wishes to live.”
— Oscar Wilde

Join me, and farewell.
And hope this poem finds you well!

No where, no why —
Ever after, life of sighs.

Tell me not your burden,
Nor your sorrows.
Go higher, fly further, to the world with just fun and laughter.

Farewell, my never-known friend,
See you when we can meet again.

Written on 9 September 2013, in Hong Kong.
Originally named “the news“.
In memory of a passed-away schoolmate, Janet, who ended her own life earlier.
I have never known her, and I think she did not know me either, but I wish to write her this poem.

There are lots of obstacles in life.
Some people say we can always get through, as long as you tried hard enough.
What if there are some which we cannot deal with —
You never know how heavy is a burden to another person,
You never know how much one can afford.
If death is a better choice, isn’t it selfish forcing someone to stay alive?

I do not know.

Dear Janet,
It has been a few months since you have gone to a better place.
I hope that really is a better place.
I wish you all the best.
Em.

perhaps

Then I turned,
A quiet neighbourhood,
Calm water.

Listen to the birds,
Feel the wind,
Stare at the sky —

So it is,
Life is, perhaps, the most beautiful,
yet fascinating,
when there are accidents.

So I go.

Written on 16 July 2013,
Ocean Terminal, Edinburgh, Scotland

A memorial of my summer 2013,
A beautiful summer.
“Edinburgh is a hot-bed of genius.”
Definitely I will go back again.

ash

How many people we meet in our life,
and how many leave their marks in it?
You may, perhaps,
call it as “fate”
which we could never change it a bit.

Parallel lines,
Intersecting points,
Overlapping time —

Who knows what is ahead?

Move on,
there is no way to return.

Flash —
tic-tac-tic-tac
moment never waits,
time never pauses,
and, thus, wake up.

Beauty would not last,
Words would be washed off,
Meanings lose,
Feelings fade,
Nothing can last
like a moment of flashback.

Written on 21 August 2013
A poem dedicated to the very interesting people whom I have met in my life —
And there will of course be more of them.

afterword

What is the right answer?
So perhaps we have gone to the edge,
to go on, or to stop?
Maybe we are not the right ones,
or maybe we are?

“What if we are meant to be together”…
or what if we are not?

I am not that confident.
Everything is just —

What makes up a lie?

Which way to go?
Repeated feeling,
Continuous waiting.
I just wish to go on without reasoning.

I am staring at the past,
You are looking at the future.
Yet what we have in hand is NOW.

Take the risk,
Take the chance.

If still,
Maybe that’s the time to stop.

Life is, perhaps,
Too long for two young hearts.

Written on 15 August 2013.
Edited on 28 October 2013 and 31 October 2013.
After the quarrel.

I am glad that we have made through at that very moment.
I love you.

what-if

Tic-tac, Tic-tac,
moments, seconds, minutes, hours —
days, weeks, months, years —
time passes,
silence lasts.

So what if that is just a dream?
An endless dream.

No, but it cannot be a dream —
-why?
I know not, but it just cannot be —
-what is it then?
I don’t know.

So what if it is just a game?
An endless game.
A haunting game.
A lasting game.

Yes, it must be.

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