This Life
This life is all about rising and falling,
running through the terrains
of surreal moments, and clinging
on hopes and fears to face
the vicissitudes that leaves traces,
like the scars, that creeps,
screams, revisit one's dreams,
and sometimes mesmerize and gesticulate
toward the labyrinth of freakish dreams.
Waves of nostalgia
The waves of nostalgia
trample on the past,
deepening the bleeding wounds
that will never heal.
Let this frosty night cover
the mind in its blanket of serenity,
and be the guardian of the night
to chase the dragon from the dreams...
Broken
The reflection seems so fragile
on the broken mirror, that even if I touch
even with a gentle stroke, I might shatter
myself into a myriad shards, silently.
A desperate silence
Leave me alone in the desperate silence
to shriek and yell to the sky for answers,
as the anguish of lonesomeness starts
to collide with the miasma of gloominess.
But I am the dead, wearing a dreary face,
whose unheeded voice drifts in the wilderness
just to fade away into the bleakness of emptiness.
Estranged
To the estranged friend...
This is not what you thought you'll ever hear,
nor I ever intended these feelings to reveal.
Now, I wish this iffy entanglement to be free.
That would be good for you, and good for me.
Today, I felt like I should flush
the smouldered resentment,
or I should break away
from the estrangement,
for whatever the consequence.
I always tried to pull you close,
despite that you always repelled.
I desire not clipping your wings,
nor your pretentious affinity.
It's neither good for you,
nor good for me.
This withered relationship,
either needs a cure, or a kill,
or separate ways to start off
a new beginning.
Blind
In the state of blindness, my quivering steps
were entangled by the labyrinth of confusions,
and tumbled into the quagmire of wretchedness,
which besmirched the pristine thoughts ruthlessly,
and alienated my life in the wilderness of insanity.
Maybe the karma of my life is pallid and murky,
hurled with vicissitudes, and fenced with melancholies,
or I am just a blind, failing to espy the fragile beauty,
delicate as an exquisite rose, that a life showers.
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