Layers

A touch upon a layer of truth

A splash upon another layer of discovery

A teardrop upon another layer of epiphany

Panoramas of all the moments

That had made me stupid

Given me strength, wisdom.

I kneel down.

My fingers dare sense

The surface of the delicate layers;

The layers started and end

Within myself.

Subjective Bedrocks

A love that consists

A whole foundation of a life

That continues to resist

The mistrust and a knife.

A religion that roots deep

Beneath the establishment of humanity

That carries out to keep

The worship of the Christianity.

Time reveals various sides.

A golden necklace in his pocket

That a girl never received.

A kiss of broken words

That promised everything but to cleave.

His eyes that follow another girl’s back

The girl now believes.

Da Vinci Code discovers another truth.

A bible may or may not have

Been written by one man,

A Jesus may or may not have

Been married to Maria Magdalene,

The sangreal may or may not have

Been a symbol of a female.

Absence may make the heart grow fonder

But what is out of sight may be out of mind.

A child could choose

To thank the Santa or the parents.

We shall never know

The truest version of these stories.

All I can do is choose

A truer version for myself.

An Axis of Rotation

As a second passes by

A molecule of a river is replaced.

As a day goes by

A number on a calendar changes.

As a season goes by

A different breeze goes through my sleeves.

As a year goes on

I change by an age.

I should have realized

You also change

By a second, a day, a season, a year.

They say time changes it all

But really it is the people living in it that change.

The time is not to blame.

Remember the days I was worrying

How time may challenge where our hearts shall bent

You were too confident to tell me

If there is a will there is a way.

You sounded too assured –

Yes, too secure.

The deep night sky spreads in front of me

But again, every second,

I’m seeing a different sky, another constellation.

Irresistibly, I simply stare.

A silent prayer wades through the night

Hoping to be a firm axis of rotation

That shall pin down on the earth with its graceful weight.

A Morning Of The Winter Version

The storekeeper arrives.

In this silence of warm crystal morning

A key unlocks a store door

Struggling through everything absolutely frozen

With only a small sound of cling.

When the door is flung opened

There’s a sound of the bells.

That is how the awe of last night

Is shattered into pieces of light.

And then I see another world of

What was tomorrow of yesterday.

The unmoving air

Make trees stay even darker.

Birds constantly sing,

But without flapping their wings.

In this vacuumed atmosphere

The sun rays penetrate through every sound molecule

And glorify the gleam to the new extremes.

And then I stay silent;

I do not wish to shatter further

The already cracked moment.

With a blow of a breath

I could make a butterfly fly.

I let the touch of my finger tip

Wake the dormant leaf.

Another Night

The night bears the silence

The night outshines the city lights.

The lyric flows

The past sinks deep into my heart

The past self has turned out to be false.

People party at night

I sense silence out of the bundle of noise.

Among the infinite space of silence

I try to look for a torch

And then a wall to touch.

When there is a touch of liquid on my hands

I was never quite sure what it was.

Could it be tears?

Tears from myself?

Or tears from the above?

The night always raises questions.

The night is always colder.

When I found a torch

I expected something warm.

Instead, I am lowered by the coldest truth.

A wall was only at the end of it.

I did manage to touch it.

Tonight is another night after another.

Tomorrow will be another night after this night.

The night gradually swallows up everything,

But the whiteness of snow.

Snow falls upon me,

I fall

Into another night.

L.H.O.O.Q.

I respect very greatly

Of what you have for yourself.

Your high ego and pride,

I am sure they deserve so much.

Take a look at an actual Mona Lisa,

I’ve heard its fame to be quite big

But its frame turned out to be too small.

Take a walk to MOMA,

My favorite piece there is L.H.O.O.Q.

It proves the small frame to be even smaller.

A mustache and five letters were all it took.

The great inner thing you keep

I know they serve for grave purposes.

The frames you’ve built

To define your world, your thoughts, your principles

They were shocking enough to chase me away

And the distance grow great between you and me

But I know they are really

Just some stubborn lines that stand

To mark your ridiculous boundaries.

What would take to make you realize

That it only took a mustache and five letters

For the great Mona Lisa to all of a sudden go horny.

The famous smile in the small picture –

Experts add all kinds of adjectives to describe it.

At least Mona Lisa smiles for the sake of Renaissance.

You, who don’t even represent anything for this century,

Your pride stays firm for the sake of nothing –

Perhaps for a lonely end.

Blind, Blind Not

The mass of that light I see

Rather light or grave,

That is not exactly a matter to me.

In the infinite darkness

I could make a use of it -

It becomes a very delightful thing, in that case.

Oh, man, you see the inside

Of her topless naked body.

You are striving to see

And be pleased to see it

And be thanking god for giving you the sight.

But, no.

You don’t even have the light I’d have used

In the infinite darkness of the fearing echos.

Is it so simple to come across

The one thing your wife should have told you.

Humans are too stupid to remember

Anything they heard what not to do.

But see that shameless blind.

His hands always searching for the right path;

Trying harder than any of the blessed who can see

That is how he lives a life.

Away from the world’s sins.

That one dreadful stick,

One onerous cry of a prostitute,

An early smoke from a funeral place.

He touches by and walks through.

I gather my hands for a prayer.