again and again
mornings are always filled with the chatter
of sparrows upon those branches of
almost dead trees,
a cemetery in air, and then what follows
are the clutters of the kitchen,
smell of fried fish and sunny side up
eggs on the table
steamed rice rising to the ceiling,
smoked sausages, and bread,
mornings are better now.

until you arrive and make promises again
that morning will be better now.

i remember you, old lady, when you were
younger, hair flowed freely down to your waist
and you breed children from many men,
and i had none of you, and when we talk you
have become another selfish woman who only
talks about the past,present and future men
of your life and then i start talking about your
house and kids and business and the talk on
that boat had become so endless, i got tire,
as i had always been tired in this lonely journery
to nowhere, and then i start to talk about myself
and you leave me. I am only interesting when
i am interested in you.
First lesson. Keep yourself and do not bother.

we were excited for this trip

another Hongkong this time

when we arrive at the airport

we rested for a while waiting for

our tour guide who shall take us

on the terms of our itinerary

i took some tour pamphlets

looked at the train maps

and tourist attractions

and when i came back to the waiting seat

i realized there are many women seated at the back

one told me that they are domestic helpers

waiting for their employers

she is a computer graduate from the Philippines

who is jobless in her country

and this time she is taking this work

as her family needs money

she is going to send her siblings to school

on the other line of seats are Indonesians

and Pakistanis

still young and with their looks

could serve well their new masters

i could not tell her that i am a tourist in Hongkong

with my wife who shall go shopping again

and enjoy life as much as she could

her employer arrives and i waive my hand at her

as she left carrying her her new luggage and her

handbook as overseas worker

gripped by her left hand.

POETRY is something
that you do
which most of the times
others do not really
share doing, for one thing
for most, it serves no purpose
perhaps, except to baffle

somehow i keep doing it
just like dropping a tiny stone
in that sleepy pond
to make a ripple where ripple
makes more ripples
and then a child begins to
see
and asks
if there is a fish that swims
in it.
then the fish story begins
to be told
until the child has grown up
to be a man
ready for more ripples.

nobody
wants to read and study the law
it if is a scene
it is nothing but snow and a roll
of mountains
roads closed and covered
and people prefer
to stay indoors
drinking coffee or
taking naps
the law does not mind
until something happens to
the numb until someone is
damned
perhaps there is a sudden
death
or a mysterious killing
or someone arrogant just
spit in you and you have no
way of getting even
somehow a rainbow appears
in the sky
after a bloody moon at
night
passed with so much
grieving
then you need the law but
it is too late
the night has come
and you do not know who
is there
on the street running away

noting that the venue
of the december reunion shall
be in Talim Island
(imagine the boat
and the breeze and
the usual cargoes of
basic necessities like
rice and noodles and
salt and sugar and
the chichirikas and

some spaghetti sause
and soap and laddles
and basins, notwithstanding
the underestimation of
the river foams and lilies)
i guess i must have been
spontaneous in saying,
with apologies to Norman,
originality-wise you will
love the smell of your roots
and the taste of old
salt....

how candles
consume themselves
is not really
dramatic, it's normal
for candles to light
themselves
eat themselves
and then
just like that
melt and just be
nobody or
nothing, and

kids pick them up
again
remelted and shaped
into new
entities for sale,
and the buyers
too are like candles
consume themselves
in routine
buy what was
wasted
move on with their
lives
borrow light
and then too
die not in
hopelessness
there's gonna be
eternal life
not just recycling

i wore this
black jacket
and underneath
is the blue
shirt with a hard
collar

and i pose at the
front of the church
and you may say
what is the big fuss?
well, it was taken
in Sofia, Bulgaria
and if you care enough
winter is coming
and the Syrian migrants
are still living
inside their small tents..