WRITING
2019 ~ present
Lowland delusion
The still, restless night
Hearing the feathers spread on my skin
pierce my bones,
A wild horse trained to be born
Its wheezy echo with footprints,
dotted in the lowlands
He is too old to catch your attention
It is the gloom of his eyes that has consumed your thoughts
Why do you avoid your sight –
The vast expanse of heaven and earth can no longer hold you
Bones are under your feet
They have long since lost a sense of pain
Look up, young man
Look at me.
A calling from a cello
1.
There is no space for sadness to do a short stay
The yelling cry of yesterday has vanished
My heart slides on the strings of the cello with unspeakable sadness
Bloated and sharp, like a melting herb
I ran wildly as the water boiled violently, this moment
I am the victim of all mistakes
And for whom, are the flowers blooming in the garden?
2.
The sky full of injustice has saturated me
Being a piece of seaweed,
floating on a horizontal surface
The morning mist cleared, and the sun shone on me again
It awakens my consciousness, flaps my eyelashes
The scent of grass dew rushes into my nose
I can not bear to say goodbye
Thus, I go straight down to the river.
Everyone lies to their mother
It is not lying, for I cover it up
And all the lies, came out
It was not love, for all the mistakes
Put aside their dignity, for families.
I am glad I am a larva
Not a moment they will stop fighting,
They fought for lands, food, and the right to education
I am glad I am a larva,
I stand and look at them long and long.
They built skyscrapers, but they looked forward to
higher stars,
They turned on all the lights in the dark, just to dispel the evil gods
in their soul,
They were stained with blood from their compatriots,
and no one was spared.
I stand and look at them long and long,
I am glad I am a larva,
No need to step into their swamp,
Let the world pay for themselves.
Untitled
F o r
T h e p o s e i s n o t
H a p p e n e d i n f r o n t
O f t h e e y e
A n d r e m a i n e d
I n c i n e m a
D e n i e d
B y
T h e p a s t.
I
L i s t e n t o t h e
D e a d
S o f a r f r o m u s.
Untitled 8
Thinking eye
gives me the certainty of being
a portrait to read
The detail, at least is not strictly
or else, “seeing” but being there
all is leading
is given to me!
We night speak to a star
Crossing the corner of the collar
I dismiss.
I refuse.
I want to or not, as “aberrant”
Glass is the eye, but it does not find its sign.
I may know it wrongly, miss its punctum, and ultimately
To say nothing,
to raise its consciousness.
Untitled 9
Time split huge halls,
Leading far into the distance.
I saw the dusty gray light,
Contained all the hours of my past life,
Leading me across the North Sea.
I watched you through a doorway,
Somebody laughed.
The light withdrew into itself,
I turned back.
Untitled 10
“You can’t catch anything.”
“I don’t know.”
“She wants” “to be everything.”
Did I recognize her?
It was my last night.
I see, I feel, hence I notice, I observe, and I think.
I found out on the day we saw the baby born
“Let me fly with you.”
“Shall I come too?”
A Kiss
There I was, alone
The face I had loved
Standing at the end of a bridge
As children often do, in an awkward gesture
“I do no harm”
I could not define a single discover
Not a just kiss, just a kiss, but a just kiss
For the first time, I convinced
I lived in her weakness
As if time eliminates the emotion of loss
I can never deny
Her hair, her skin, her dress, her gaze
On that day.
nov. 2020