[archived poems by yuan 2017-1©]

2017, 4, 14 [Friday]

Just Another Fallen Leaf

When Shakyamuni sat still under a puti tree

Trying to find answers to his own questions

A leaf fell down on his back, and no other animal

Noticed him on the spot, though he could have stood up

And been seen against the landscape. Me either

But I like to recall that leaf he might have spotted

Or reflected upon, whose veins encoded all the secrets

About the winds, the mountains and his growing fame

The connection that is accidentally necessary – he

Could have caught it, examined it, or played with it

But he didn’t. With its pollens spread near and afar

He never thought it helped make his name evergreen

Congregation: Let There Be Light

Seldom is the light so bright

Everything can shine in it

Even the mind, even the spirit

That is right now transmitting

Into rays amidst rays

You hate black holes at noon

Because they suck in all illuminations

Leaving dark matter beyond

Every anti-space. You concentrate

Your consciousness into a single beam

Of photons, which cannot stay

Like stars, but it may join the light

Enlightening as you are enlightened

Brush Made from Baby Wolf Hair

This is a traditional Chinese pen, an artifact

Combining a wolf’s wildness with a baby’s

Innocence. It is soft but strong enough to

Write dark history in rice fields, or draw

Black pictures on ricepaper. All in black

And white. Unlike the feather from a swan

That can fly up from an alphabetic epic

Yes, it is a colorless feeling the writer

Or the painter gets, from his inky strokes

Family Legend

Upon his dying of an unknown disease

In his infancy, a travelling Daoist told

The family to keep a goose to protect him

So he did survive and, since then, has never

Eaten any goose meat, nor could his sons

Or grandsons sing well, except calling

Monotonously as a goose does. They say

They are not the offspring of a dragon; rather

Their share the bloodline from a wild goose feathered

With the hope of flying back to the blue sky

Like a true migratory species, whose souls

Are hidden deeply behind dissonant calls

Place to Compare

On the mountain, where the tree waves

Keep surging towards heaven, or

Brooks flow noisily

You follow the invisible trail

Touched

            By new twigs

Their leaves shining

                        With dark veins

                                    Fully coded

Everything is so fresh

So uncertain about itself

Even the mists

Evaporating into spirits

Up there

Above the thorny bushes

My Woman, Who’s Such a Wonder

Among evergreens of an unknown

Hill, can come tight on top of me

Like a patch of heaven, sagging herself

Down for Penetration, Pop Pop Pop!

Let me grow harder and taller

Wrapping me with her dripping mists

Stroking me with her inner tongues

Then I roll over her

Bloated shape, ready to rise

Again, and again

And drift with me in a cloud

After planting my selfhood into earth

As deeply as a tree

An everlasting erection

Raccoon

Between two twisted twigs

A raccoon caught itself, neither could

It climb up for the fruit; nor was it willing

To come down to the barren ground

    A dark animal

With two big shiny eyes

Staring at me

The way a panda does

When he looks for bamboo leaves

Imported

From his native territory

Frog Calls

The frog has stopped calling

In the early light, but I

Still feel the sound waves

Surging towards my mind’s shore

Though different from the frogs

My mother used to listen to when

I must have heard deep

Inside her teenager womb

As she walked at dusk from her first job

In town back to her native village

Their calls separate us into two worlds

And my nostalgia is her nostalgia

Echoing from generation to another

As loud as the song of the heart

From the long lost rice fields

Walnut

The autumn’s yellowish brain

Hardened within spiky skin

Keeps all the secrets of the

Passing season

    Cherishes its dreams

In each of its wooden lobes

Beyond Sunlight

Holding their breaths, many stood

Close to the neighbor’s

Broken fence

They bear no fruits, nor can they reach

Upto the sky’s fantasy while

The front yard stays still

With the sidewalk

As if waiting every passer-by

To watch it

Even including the sun

The Magician

While all audiences got lost deep

In wonder, the magician

    Forgot to bring the beauty

Back to life by putting her limbs

                                                                                 

And head together, just as in

A pigsaw puzzle game

Politicians

They are speech actors, working with

Eight classes of words and

Seven syntactic elements

Changing singulars to plurals

Passive into active, or otherwise

A whole set of rules

All as conventional

As idioms per se

Adding some new vocab every year

Their job is to make new sentences

Based on the same old grammar

Spring Is the Same

As love, youth or

Climate, where

Our body is fully prepared

For a smile of the heart

The Power of Words

The membership of the social elite

Is reserved for those who

Know more words in a vocab test

Than in actual use

That’s the shortcut

To the drama of words

To the kind of relationship aimed at

LIFE

lifelifelifelifelifelife

lieflieflief

ififif

life

lie

if

Heart of Marpole

Real estate agency                  Royal Bank

                                                Safeway         

                                                Animal shop

South Granville

A run-on sentence

In a poem

Summer Emergency

                        fire

                        fire

                firefirefire

firefire                                     firefire

firefire                                     firefire

firefire                       firefire

firefire                       firefire

    firefire   firefire

      firefire firefirefire

firefirefirefirefirefirefire

   firefirefirefirefirefirefirefire

firefirefire                    efirefirefire

Black and White

Colorless art

                                                                                                     

White

Whit

Whi

Wh

W

Greetings from Aliens

Newer Morse Code:

Mabakoola

Perbiofigate

Satlerial

Yinnish

Yangful

Babel Tower

G

O

       D

0

1

0

1

0

1

ESPERANTOESPERANTO

reachreachreach

English

Chinese

Spanish

French

Russian

To Be Continued: Human Trilogy

After too much

Kill

The race has become

Ill

With numerous lower cases of

                                    i

Words no longer in use: a poem out of archaic words revived like jesus

Shakespearean Couplets

From fairest creatures we desire increase,

That thereby beauty's rose might never die,

But as the riper should by time decease,

His tender heir might bear his memory:

But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes,

Feed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel,

Making a famine where abundance lies,

Thy self thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel.

Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament,

And only herald to the gaudy spring,

Within thine own bud buriest thy content,

And tender churl mak'st waste in niggarding:

Pity the world, or else this glutton be,

To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee.

When forty winters shall besiege thy brow,

And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field,

Thy youth's proud livery so gazed on now,

Will be a tattered weed of small worth held:

Then being asked, where all thy beauty lies,

Where all the treasure of thy lusty days;

To say within thine own deep sunken eyes,

Were an all-eating shame, and thriftless praise.

How much more praise deserved thy beauty's use,

If thou couldst answer 'This fair child of mine

Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse'

Proving his beauty by succession thine.

This were to be new made when thou art old,

And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold.

Just Another Touch

                                    Tender

                              Is

                            The

                          Night

                        Even more so

                  Is

                Your

            BREAST

               So soft

                 Fleshy and full

                        Of female warmth

                        Attached is not only

                          Your love for

                            But also      

                                    A

                                    G

                                    A

                                    I          

                                    N        

                                    S

                                    T

Slicing

This is not a pizza but

A cake to cut into

Pieces like the

Butterly pointed

Wide an arrow

To wedge

Into your

Heart

Your

Tongue

Cupid

Nine out of Ten

You’ll love her

You will love her eyes

You would love her tongues, up and down

You shall love the way she shakes her hair

She assumes nothing is possible                     

She forgets to put things back after use

She takes a supposition as a fact

She throws a wet blanket

            Until you love her dog’s shit

On the Highway of Life

Sharp curve

Slippery

Danger

Detour

Road closed

Prepared to stop

Construction ahead

Yield

Yield

Yield

If the Name Is Not Right

Says Confucius, the speech

Will carry no might, or something

To this effect, but I do not care

Nor will I put up any fight

If you call me chink, chinaman

Oriental, ching chong, dog-eater

Bruce Lee, Jackie Chan

Jeremy Lin, Yao Ming, Ling Ling

Even Jap or Gook while pulling

Your eyes back. Whatever name

You call me, my words do not

Go right, since English is never

My mother tongue, after all

[you vs us]

You cut meat with sharp knives

We poke grasses with bamboo sticks

            You punch others with hard fists

We dance around you with taichi gestures

Your men fuck around everywhere outside your households

Our women lay babies right in your living rooms

            You colonize every city with an English syntax

We decorate each street with Chinese signboards

You deploy aircraft carriers near our waters and coasts

We marry girls to your princes and paupers

You enjoy setting fires and blowing winds along our long walls

            We have Chinese stomachs to digest all insults and injuries

You try every way to overthrow our government

We sell every artifact to help your people survive

            You borrow money from us to build more weapons

We work hard to make more money for your banks

2017, 3, 16 [Thursday]

***

Moving on

Towards the setting sun

You will find all your pasts

Stretched long, longer

And darker than

Your own shadow

In the Forest of Life

He kept felling trees

One after another

Not to see whose ring is

The roundest, but to taste

Which cut offers the finest

And most fragrant sawdust

Memories, Your Hidden Memories

Are the wine you drank the other day

It can never get you

Really high, but only make you suffer

From another long sleepless night

On the Painting Canvas

Wherever his brush pen goes, it

Becomes colorful, but even more so

Is the blank he leaves un-brushed

Just as the words uttered can be meaningful

But much more so are those unuttered

Perhaps even un-thought of

For a Change

When the birds stop barking aloud

All the dogs in the neighborhood

Start chirruping in a new singsong

About their angel-like voices

Yes, when all is quiet at night

Silence falls into errors

The Everlasting Game

Each time God casts

His dice, man turns out

The winner

Not because he intends to cheat

But because God was created to play man’s game

Artwork

Just as space is the artwork of

Time, so is time of God

The greatest masterpiece of man

Motherearth

Wrapped so tightly

With ever growing roads

And routes, Earth can

Never hope to flee

Out of the cage of

Human network

Into the depth of cosmos

Where true freedom is

The order of the day

Muted Musings

1/         Snow has buried all roads and trails

So that you can walk your own way out

2/         Join the whole of the white world, or you

            Would be fragmented into the darkness

3/         This is the most dynamic stage, where

Whitewashed silences dance ever so wildly

4/         The entire season is holding its breath

As if waiting to embrace the snowfall

Comet

Illuminates the whole eastern sky as it burns, and

All the darkness in the universe will be dispersed

If, even if there is only a small comet

Flying above the horizon of a hidden inner space

Not to Be Watched

Some bloom brilliantly in spring gardens

Some reach out large leaves along summer roads

Others bear juicy fruits in autumn fields

While this little plant grows slowly, in silence

Until it becomes a towering tree in the snowland

Don’t Stand Still

What you face is only a wind; what you feel around

Is a whirl, but if you just keep on walking

Against the storm, you will become an anemoscope

For an Umbrella

Walking too long in this

Cold rain, how I need a shelter

Be it a small leaf

Or even an old newspaper

A Small Wish

I would rather be a leaf

Whose body may contain

The secrets of a whole forest

Or

A single dewdrop

Whose soul can see

Through an entire ocean

Obsession

Both fish and birds can

Get lost in the blue

Of sky

Of sea

Or the other way around

So, don’t attract yourself

To the reflection of colors

Unappreciated

Every human is a book to be read

Every heart has a song to be heard

While the mind offers a view

That can never be revisited

Like a long lost dream

Biting Time

This is all life is about:

If there is no bridge, you can wait

For the river to get frozen

If there is no road, make shoes

And kick a trail out of the thorny bushes

If there is no shelter, use your thought

And dream to put up a tent against the storm

Just keep on travelling, and you will find

Just another strangely familiar path

Come and Go

Humans keep coming to this planet

So are gods and other super beings

Where both are as busy in this world

As are the story tellers in a parallel one

Gratitude

I wished for a single dew, but you

Have given me a whole morning

I wished for a little cloud, but you

Have given me a boundless sky

I wished for a petal, but you

Have given me an entire season

I wished for a small tree, but you

Have given me a range of mountains

    So I have stopped making wishes

    Just to feel grateful to you and all

Smile

Is a morning glow, which costs

The sun nothing, but it creates

Indefinite add-on value

For the morning, for the world

Tranquility

Is the landmark of

A healthy life, and of

A healthy soul

Each Worm

Is a fertile garden, where grows a

    Love into a family flower

Or tree, where the birds

Are hatched out and flying away

Like her children

So, how can you enjoy the bird’s song

    Without appreciating the worm?

Word’s Wisdom

Life contains many

A hidden if, as does every wife

Or rife

Once f – is absent

What remains is but a lie

Motivation

Does not need

A motivation

Like you do

Its motivation, if any

Is to be an action

That’s that

… Needs a Smile

So it invented flowers

To bloom in every season, and

Rivers to irrigate the dry fields

Beyond the barren banks

On Loneliness

                                                                                            

The sun is as lonely

As the moon is alone

Because they are both unique

While stars are so many

As to fill in the whole sky

In total darkness

Hibernation

Deep under the snow

All animals and plants

Are lost in their white dreams

Waiting

To melt on a long and                              

Warm day, when stories become

Ready to start

Again

Tipos

Abilites accellerate acheivements

Writer

The monkey scratches

Its hairy head

Then its hairless butt

The way you scratch

The paper (or the screen)

With the itchy fingers of your mind

Beloved Butterflies

You often imagine your soul

Transforming into a butterfly

That is, one of 20,000 species of

The kind, or 725 north of Mexico

As a butterfly, your soul can perform

The many deeds you can never hope to

For example, perch on a pink petal

Flap its wings against sunlight

Return to its cocoon to change its past

Or even travel back along the trail when

It was still an ugly caterpillar before it flies

Forward to the dawn of tomorrow

Although unable to fight with an bald eagle

Relocate a whole forest or, more

Modestly, bite off a thorny leaf, it can dance

With an angel for a whole night

Yes, you enjoy being that butterfly, taking

On a different shape with more colors

Afternoon Call

Listen, just in case,

            In case what? 

In case there should be, in case tragedy

                  What kind?

In case volcano, in case earthquake, in case fire

Where? When?

In case market, in case earth, in case

                                    In case Trump?

He cuts her short, switches off his iphone, puts down his

Coffee cup, gets up from his long held position

And leaves his voice echoing at the other end

In case asynodia, she murmurs, in case

Testimony

Crows don’t know they have a god

But we do. It is pure white as snow

Instead of cawing, it keeps shooting

A seven-colored arrow into every ear

Of the mind. It never flies, but like a

Rooster, it perches upon the curtain of

Light as we saw yesterday, and

The day before

Foxwoman

There is a fairytale told, and retold again

In Ming Dynasty, about a coquettish fox that

Takes on the shape of a beautiful young woman

Ready to offer herself to a poor obscure guy

Like a magician she brings rich food and wine

To him during the day, and uses her two mouths

To suck up all his yuanqi (energy or masculinity)

At night until he dies in ecstasy of sexual love

Then, the immortal woman would marry another

While many hungry boys would rather become

That lucky guy. I enjoy thinking of that fox

Like a deformed soul wearing a human mask

With hair behind, which makes it feel itchy

While all men are waiting, in anxiety

Lines from the Sky

With wet syllables, spring lines fall down

From above, thin, transparent

So many they fill in all spaces

So many when animals and objects

Move around. The lines cut themselves

Into corresponding shapes. Like those

Printed in a traditional Chinese book. From

Top to bottom, from right to left

Line beside line, each to the earth

Each with a slanting trail of ellipsis

Everywhere on the ground, they gather

Into pools, streams, rivers. Everywhere

They become oval syllables

Spelt into a whole splashing season

A Nest to Dwell in

A bird flies back to a nest

That closes on the vowel

The vowel is I

Each time it chirrups

It reminds of my other self

So the bird cannot live

With its voice in the nest

            Into my thought, feeling, breathing

            You will leave your soul behind

            In the nest that is larger, more

            Self-contained than the forest

Way to Examine Life

As waters from the Fraser River

Join the Pacific with pure streamlets

From glaciers, there is no clear cut

Line between inland and oceanic waters

Walking along the bank, you see

A barge full of sawdust pulling in

From or to nowhere at dusk; along

The mouth a small tugboat drags

Half a mile of timbers where seabirds

Are trying to hear the gurgling

Between fallen trees, like a tiny

Ant carrying a huge dunghill. You feel

Tired of running, but you find waves surging

Towards the bank as if to send your thoughts ashore

Sublime  

Rather than the Douglas Fir’s

            Top towering against the morning sky

It is the way it reaches up

            Penetrates the darkness of last night

                Supporting a whole corner of

            Tomorrow’s world like a tremendous totem

The same is true of man. The sublime is

In his rise, his civilized mind is

Uplifted to a different space

Nothing pushing up under

Your feet, your heart, and your spirit

      How it stands high

2017, 1, 18 [wed]

I Love This; Jesus, I Really Do

Yes, you’ve just had a terrible car crash

You broke both of your legs

You were laid off last night

You lost all your files saved in your hard drive

Your only child has just died of an unknown disease

Your wife has eloped with a rich and handsome boy

You have not been able to sleep for more than a week

Your sick father has just turned a plant being

Your eyes cannot see any longer

You become bankrupt today

Your bad cough is getting dramatically worse

You find yourself a new cancer patient

You are being tortured by an evil interrogator

Or…. no problem, but you still have at least one remarkable reason

To celebrate: you remain alive, and so long

As this is true, you will be rewarded, sooner or later

In an ever surprising way, for every single occurrence is

A real preparation for the better to come

Indeed, what I say is, each event that takes place in your life

Leads you nowhere else but one step closer to heaven

You Are Nobody

Come on, don’t put on airs, but just get rid of all

Your masks or make-ups, including your clothing

Be they for god or devil, for crown or clown, and

Lower-case your first person pronoun: indeed

You are neither the most powerful leader of others

Nor the humblest boss of yourself; you are neither

The shining star on the stage, nor even the speaker, the teacher

The doctor, the driver, the constructor, the programmer

The prize winner or whatever you think, you claim, or

Your hope you are. You are nothing more or less than

One of billions of humans who need to process food

In your belly on a daily basis, who have to deal with your

Emotions on each occasion, who wish to live a happy and

Healthy life. Such being the case, aren’t you tired of

Pretending someone bloated like a bubble, why not just crawl out

Of your thick slough for a fresh breath in another open field?

Self-Change

During high school, I kept dreaming to change the whole world

Grown up, I find I cannot improve even the back lane of my house

While dating, I strongly believed I could reform my girlfriend to a great wife

But 30 years after marriage I still fail to make her close the toilet lid after use

Thinking hard about why I cannot alter anything, or anybody

I find the reason lies exactly in my failure to see the harsh truth

About change: you can never hope to change what you are a tiny part of

And the only person you can change is the humbler version of your self

The Rapist: the Chinese Catchword in 2016

Fate is neither the knocking at the door

Of your heart, nor the perfect storm

Nor a peculiar restaurant, nor a gift

Nor your life per se; rather, it is…

The more powerful red rapist: if you

Can’t resist it, try to enjoy the process

Self-Relationship

Despite all the relationships you have developed

And tried to maintain, be it with god or nature

Be it with man or woman, with your father or son

Your boss or fan, you have deplorably failed

Even to establish one with your inner self

As an independent human being to be put right

At the center of your network, though you don’t know

How, except for your natural tendency to treat it

Like your foe, or like your soulmate

New Millennium of American Politics 

            yuan changming : a canny nigh mug

listen : silent

george bush : he bugs gore

reformer with results: true former whistlers

(hillary clinton : only i can thrill)

barack obama: a mr boa aback

change we can believe in: viewable chance engine

forward: far word

donald trump : old damp runt

make America great again: i am a egg mania caretaker

[or] a cage earmarking tea

america first: a racer misfit  

Anagrammed Variations of the American Dream 

A ram cairned me

In a crammed era [where]

Cameramen raid

A dire cameraman [or]

Arid cameramen

[Becoming]  

A creamed airman [or]

A carmine dream

A minced ram ear

[a] maniac rearmed

As freedom turns into a dorm fee

Democracy to a car comedy, and

Human rights to harming huts

Snow Sunday

A muted black and white world, where

Each sound wave is straightened

Along a whitened thread of voice

With all glaring vowels frozen, and all

Shadowy consonants covered with

Shredded words, in this pantomime of

Nature, we look and see, but

Fail to hear amidst fluffy flakes

Basic Formula for Happiness/Mindfulness

Let I be me, let me be nobody, and

Let all pasts and futures be a void, then

Focus your consciousness

Right on the present moment

Open every cell to receive cosmic light

And we get the desired result as the whole

Universe conspires to make it come true

Removed SAT Analogies 

President Obama is to real change as

President Bush was to true peace

            Republican senators are to family values as

            Family values have been to domestic violence

Fire is to forest as

Hurricanes is to beach

            Afghanistan was to Iraq as

            Iraq was to Vietnam

Brush is to a painter as

Word to a liar

Updated: Chinglish vs Americhina

As halfyuans climb near

The wall-e to celebrate

Freedamn newly gained

From the innernet

As well as from don’trains

We antizens find ourselves living

A livelihard and getting poor

In the stuckmarket

Full of niubility

Some renowned profartssors

Keep playing zhuangbility

By acting like tuhaos

Trying to sponsor foulsball

Meanwhile, many a gambller

From our goveruptioin has to

Prepay for his own corpspend

Like a real shability because they

Cannot remain emotionnormal

After breaking the harmany

As they receive canslsensorship

Or play suihide with their conscience

There are people mountain people sea

All yakshitting over there

You can you up; otherwise

No can no bb, since you know

Well: no zuo no die

To Change Yourself Is to Change the Whole World

You know little, you know nothing

About quantum entanglement?

Don’t feel ignorant. Me either

But listen: once you’ve changed

Your own inner being, you will

Be better off, and once your self is

Better off, so will your family; so will

Your neighborhood; your village or city

Your homeland; your (and our)

Whole world. The same is true

With quantum physics, exactly

As in human society

Introduction to Quantum Superposition

Certainly you cannot be in different places

At once, nor can you have different true

Selves in the same place, but the Monkey King

Can do both on his journey to the west (supposedly

In quest for the authentic Buddhist scriptures): simply

By pulling a thread of hair from behind his ear

Chewing it, and then blowing the broken

Pieces out, they will become as many

Monkey kings. Got the idea? Few of us understand

Quantum superposition, nor do we all

Really need to, but aren’t we all evolved

From monkeys? So we can chew our inner beings

And attain many identical versions of our selves:

As a quantum state, it can be represented

As a sum of multiple other distinct state; otherwise

Just choose another self on the stem cell of your mind

And you will see what you can never imagine seeing

Consciousness Determines Existence

It is not the consciousness of men that

Determines their existence, Marx says

But their social existence that determines

Their consciousness. However, the opposite

May prove true, since once you change

Your way of thinking, or your frame of mind

You will live a different life, which will

By logical extension, change your whole

Social existence, just as a single drop of dye

Changes the color of a large body of water

Accumulated within your inner space

Choice Is More Significant Than Effort

If, if only we chose

To see, to hear

To smell, to touch

And to taste what is good

True or beautiful, how

Desirable a human life

Would be worth living

Alas, we might never hope to do so

But we can at least try, and in trying

We will elevate our inner being

To a high frequency which will

Resonate with an equally high living

Or did you?

Inner Cosmesis

We spend tones of effort, time and money

To take care of our outer looks, but little

On our inner being. Is this because nobody can

See it, or because everyone is happy about it?

Oh, me for one, how I wish

To improve both the appearance

And essence of my selfhood

Not with cosmetics

But with surgery

How Large Is Your World

No smaller than the internet

Or virtual reality itself, my world

Is populated not only with those

I know or know of, but also with

Total strangers, expanding daily

Beyond the boundaries of my senses

And of my mind or imagination, a world

Where my heart embraces my world

My world embraces my heart, where

I am my world, and my world is me

The Last of Homers

All gods returned to Olympus long ago

All heroes have recently left for Mabakoola

Now even the surviving poets are finally dying out

Like yellow-shouldered blackbirds or whooping cranes

As the printed word is replaced by the icon on the screen

And the world we used to live in by the virtual reality

We intake artificial compounds instead of natural produce

We inhale chemical particles rather than pure air

Our genes are undertaking a mutation, which are

Turning us from humans to e.yahoos. We live to seek

Sensual pleasures only like ancient hedonists

No more do we care about truth or good, (perhaps besides beauty)

Dying together with the last of Homers are all legislators with

Every statesman, doctor, teacher in the traditional sense

Of the word; what is left to prosper is physical senses and hard

Currency besides showmen while our body evolves into comfort

Our mind is degenerating dramatically like our ugly tailbones

Creating on a Snowtrail

Many are ready to be the first

To try eating a crab alive, perhaps

But I most enjoy walking on

A trail newly covered with snow

Leaving my foot print there like Armstrong’s

On the moon, I become a unique painter

Whose steps are shallow but fresh and bold

On a landscape with no spots of darkness  

Even if they are soon to melt

When the sun rises, again

The memory will last

At least for a lifetime

Love Cure

Falling in love with, or marrying

The wrong person is not

Like taking the wrong medicine

For an unknown disease: your

Suffering remains the same

While you cannot live normally

Like you used to; rather, is like

Getting a cancer without hope

To find a ready cure; or vice versa?

Reciprocity

In the climate of my heart

You will evaporate into the blue

If I am too hot; or become frozen

If too cold; but you will always

Remain clear, soft, pure, ready

To flow gracefully, as long

As the temperature is mild enough