Poems
collected along my journey
A Poet
4:00 pm, 01/22/09
Aha,
I told the world I am a poet,
With
so much pride above and lamentation beneath,
I
declared that I am a poet.
I am
a poet without a kingdom,
Because
I have no land.
But
at least I have not lost my dreamy youth,
My
childhood heart,
And
every flicker of fire that I kept alive,
Inside
me.
Aha,
I stared into his eyes, her eyes,
Wiped
the mockery off those masks,
And
announced with no hesitation and reservation,
I am
a poet!
My
heart is bleeding,
Yet
it is singing at the same time,
My
feet are hurting,
Yet
they are dancing with every step,
Full
of vibrancy and renewed love,
My
eyes are stained,
Yet
they are shinning with tears and laughter,
Merged
into one…
Oh,
Athena,
Have
I ever lost sight of you,
In
my dreams,
In
my poems,
And
in all the love that I held out to the path,
Laid
behind me?
The
future is unknown to so many eyes,
Yet
the myth, the landscape,
The
blue of the sky and the ocean,
The
scent of pine leaves,
The
sound of endless waiting,
The
sparks of blooming smiles,
The
calluses of grandma’s hands,
And
home,
The
origin and the end of our journey,
Are
all written in the poetry of life…
Snow in July
07/02/2008
The bird nests,
And the inviting summer breeze,
That cover up one after another frozen bruises during the winter.
Real or fake,
Seems like a duplicate of the icy battle between life and death.
It’s hard to believe,
Not even to say feel the chills underneath the silky white,
Colorless but not lifeless,
Which makes the escape more impossible than ever.
Paradoxically fooling all my senses,
That just got used to the moist air,
The faint fragrance,
The high-pitched bird songs,
The mesmerizing green grass,
And the ever-stretching sky,
All earnestly embracing each other…
In the middle of July,
Though the ducks have already come back,
Resting,
Playing,
And fighting again for their vibrant existence,
Despite the hurting wounds that were carried through,
From the past and the imaginable future.
Though the memories have just been consolidated,
Good prospered,
Pains faded,
Love planted,
And endless waiting was pending.
Just like the heat used to be a part of the youthful heart.
Pity and fear,
My familiar strangers,
How long are you planning to linger,
In the light blue silhouette of all the mountains,
That life has traveled through?
Bridges broken,
Boots torn,
Maps lost,
Sense of self blurred,
One thing is preserved -
A sense of love is floating but not fleeting.
So life shall be fine,
In the massive snow of July…
Another Fine Moment
3:30 pm, 12/12/08
Something
just moved,
I
feel so much – so much inside…
It’s
another one of those fine moments,
When
the reflection of a mountain
flows
quietly on the surface of a still lake,
When
the same or different dandelions
come
back on the river bank in my hometown year after year,
When
so many fluffy clouds extend all the way
from
east to west and from north to south.
Another
thread of sunshine just passed,
I
feel so much – so much inside…
It’s
another one of those fine moments,
When
whisper and laugher accompany the last duck flying south,
And
the feeling of home is only one inch beyond touch.
When
years of youth have never been lost,
And
countless stars still shine above…
It’s
another one of these fine moments,
When
I can see, smell, and touch the warmth of laughter and tears
In
one after another seasons that had gone by and always returned,
When
I look down at the path, troubled, shivered,
But
could never been more proud.
It’s
another one of those fine moments,
When
the ashes of youth still ignite the aging eyes
During
each sunrise and sunset,
When
all the smiles and tears suddenly come back alive,
Dancing,
sparkling, and provoking.
When
love first grows as the spring prigs
swing
in the fresh air of each brand new morning…
It’s
another one of those fine moments,
When
I remember him, her, you, and me,
When
I see the young, the old, the pained, and the triumphed,
When
I reminisce the mountain traveled, the river crossed,
And
the path hidden and revealed,
When
I portray the beautiful smiles and touching wrinkles,
When
I cherish the shinny hearts and dreamy eyes,
When
I imagine allies and rivals, heroes and vagabonds, adults and children
March
along the same battle field and dream ground .
It’s
another one of those fine moments,
When
I tirelessly search for the meaning of life,
And
realized that once upon a time,
You
and I have been young,
Loved,
and been loved…
I thought of an old gaze that landed on me,
When the road was as dark as those parched dreams,
When the world was as silent as the moment right before a thunder explodes.
Warmly enfolding,
Flowing yet still.
It reminded me of serenades played
In the candlelight,
And the twinkles flashed
In the woods where fireflies glide freely.
I thought of lust and love,
Pain and regret,
Embrace and relinquish.
Winter snow hasn’t melted,
Summer roses are already in blossom.
I thought of the lake
covered by Canadian geese
In one season
After another.
I thought of the calluses on old palms,
One, two, three,
Both hands.
Has soil merged into their dreams,
Day and night?
Tulips withered,
Sweet potatoes are growing.
Theirs sweat fell on the leaves and the flowers,
And on dreams that have been buried and revived.
I thought of the desk that I used as a child.
Made of pine,
Smelt like ink,
Piles of books,
And old days memory.
Has the grade school willow grown old,
Like my playmates,
My flesh,
And perhaps my soul?
I thought of the agony lingering on those lonesome nights,
When the darkness was ascending,
Yet the light was still unfound.
The moon follows the sun,
Peace forsakes fire.
Falling asleep was precious,
So was waking up.
This way the path extended.
Life continued like dandelion.
All the bright yellow comes back every fall,
Year after year.
I thought of an old soul’s heartbeat,
Slow,
Steady,
And strong.
Toil like a bull,
Mellow like the sky,
As the sun is going down,
Tears and pains dissipate
As fast as laughter and joys.
I hear the tune that he used to play in the right moments.
Life flows like a river,
Nonstop.
I thought of departure and reunion,
I thought of full moon and crescent,
I thought of blossom and wilt,
I thought of spring and winter,
I thought of dawn and dusk.
Where is the origin of love,
Where is the destination?
I thought of one love story after another,
And the cool spring breeze that blew my hair and my heart,
In the garden filled with green and yellow,
“ How does love start and how do you keep it alive?”
I asked my heart.
“ Love is a verb. When you love, love starts.
When you keep loving, love remains.”
I smiled,
And stopped thinking.
The Blue
10/18/2005
The blue of his eyes,
Secluded the ocean inside him.
Vagabond,
Player,
Seducer,
Merge into the boyish twinkle
Of the blue.
Bright as the sky of July,
Lost as the last stork ready for departure,
The blue is searching
For the last beam of sunlight,
That seams day and night.
Did you know,
It does not matter,
Whether the blue is the fleeting spring in the desert,
Or the pine scent that lasts through hundreds of snowy winters?
As long as he takes my smile along,
In his blue,
Never wither,
Never fade...
I will visit you
On a rainy day,
When the sky and the sea merge into one color.
I will climb onto a raft in the sky,
Or a crescent moon in the ocean,
To visit you.
I long to see you,
When you are sound asleep at the bottom of the sea,
When you are surfing the waves of clouds.
Can cover the orange sunlight rising in the valley,
In which I am to set out my journey.
No one can deceive,
The silver stars piercing through the foggy road.
Which will guide me to travel across all the miles.
The earth has sunk,
The peak of the mountain has evolved,
Into the coral reef under the sea.
A chain lightening,
Falls upon my face,
Which shows no trace of the past.
But you,
Will hear every beat of my heart.
It is the gallop of my soul,
Tramping down all the barriers,
That lie on my path.
A path that leads me,
One step after another,
To where your heart rests in the dark,
To where your love wakes up under the sun.
The ducks and I
The ducks have changed from V to I,
In the sky of Arizona;
My dear family must still be sound asleep,
Now,
Early in the morning here,
Late at night, on the other side of the ocean.
The ducks have changed from I to V,
In light dusk of Arizona;
My dear faraway family has awakened,
Early summer breeze is blowing the lonely hair tips,
Mine,
Theirs.
If change is for long-lasting permanence;
If distance is for tender listening;
If life is for picking up broken pieces,
For cooling pains,
For releasing tiredness;
I will know
The flying direction of
The ducks and I.