Ink Drops

A drop of ink on my daily life,
Ripples through the storms,
Turns clouds into starry nights,
And when the sun resurrects,
It creates a flock of birdsongs,
As if oases in nearby deserts
Can recreate a treasure map,
But I insisted on believing in it,
Storytellers of ink-filled papers,
To keep writing, I drop the ink.

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To My Offspring

I just wrote an encrypted letter,
Layered with seven coding systems,
Then I rolled it for a forgotten era,
Picked up a green ribbon for a knot,
A clear glass bottle for transportation,
And a sea for an unknown itinerary,
Forty-six months without a reply,
Trapped in a dimensionless time,
Awaiting the whispers of an angel,
Voices of my ancestry start to tremble,
The return of our long-lost kingdom was
But a mirage in a servant’s mind,
The forest trees have burnt,
The valleys became arid wastelands,
Scorching heat and starless nights,
And all I could wish for was the comfort in
Lying over our forefathers’ graves,
Keeping an eye for the falcon’s shadow,
In hope for a living, for a resurrection,
For some powerful force to guide the
Bottled letter through the nine oceans,
But it is my time to bid you farewell, Offspring.

No, Wrong

I found a blooming flower,
Less nourished, innocent,
Somewhat crooked, tired,
I set observation platforms,
And I water it surreptitiously,
Afraid – she bends away,
Curious – she bends forward,
A dance of some sort –
Yet, all I wanted was to observe –
All she wanted was a bit more –
Now, unable to decide,
Confusion overlaps logic,
Between here and then,
Keeping distance for a day,
Living together for three,
Into the unknown and into our future,
What lies ahead is what we do today,
And I need to learn to say no,
I think – to let it – cease –
Because – it is – I think – wrong.

Run, Dip, and Sting

The spring of our youth,
In the middle of winter,
Decision to invade the seas,
5am in shorts by our towels,
A quick run and dip,
Nearly frozen lake,
We sprint over the pier,
Some 100 metres and –
Splashing sounds resonating,
Now dampened beneath the sea,
And I dive as they ascend,
For a legendary tale to be told,
A mermaid’s kiss? Or Thor’s hammer?
Except, all there was, was darkness,
And the million stings of jellyfishes.

National Day of Robotic Maintenance

Your story, main character, and world
Talked to me, to the elders of my tribe,
During an elusive era where simple
Silhouettes walk on a desert’s horizon,
Searching to settle near a fruitful oasis,
And when books were written to
Commemorate our legends, they were
Suffocated to never reveal the rightful heir,
(to a scorching throne buried in quicksand)
Yet, after decades of silence the glorious
Book was resurrected in a classical concert,
Soon to be confiscated, burnt, and our
Whispering hearts to be forever silenced,
Now, we are but drones awaiting the
National Day of Robotic Maintenance.