Rain

Rain drops beating on the palm leaves,
Rolling down serenely to the edge,
Escaping from the grip of fate,
Glorifying itself in the lightening,
Before melted into the embrace of earth.
It keeps pressing on, Strings in my heart
Fails to sound.
Kneeling more deeply,
Lose myself in her loosened hair,
Gazing beyond the pain into the bitter duration,
Until the down is falling.
A startled blue bird,
Flying low through the bush,
Far away traces the image of its solitary cry.

A Wanderer

I'm rambling in unnamed streets,
Mind floating in the letters
Being sent, with the message of being.
Black ink on the white paper seems much real than these streets.
The trace of wandering, deep or shallow,
Straight or curve, has shaped into stanzas.
Looking at the mirror in the bathroom,
The face with shaving foam,
Is the one you once recognized?
Sometimes, you might cross into him in these streets.
Would you notice his slim figure and questioning eyes?
When everything passed through that tightly closed door,
A woman liberally devoted one night for him.
He believed that he would forget her.
Yet several years have passed on the road,
And suddenly he recalled the rusty lock of that small cabin and
The faint light from within.
He stared at the puzzle of surrounding light and shadow.
He saw the story reflected in the dream.
He has confused which is which
In the crowded light of dawn.
A wanderer walked in the city that was not belonging to him.
A different word fell down happily before he was engulfed.
A series of unfocused images of on a foreign land,
Being shot after,
Leave only the memory for missing.

A Stranger

My passport will soon be expired.
Before long, I would answer the call
To uproot my settlement here
To wander in the abandoned memory.
All events, either trivial or important, would graze me
As I set out to the place called the Summit.
Though I would feel the waning sensation of the tropics,
My sight has been fixed upon the new adventure.
The full stop would soon to be stamped with
A thundering hit in my ears,
Like a sharp ring of cymbal, echoed the mysterious ritual I once had.
To this perjured and sordid island,
I shall repose myself again,
Full of sparkling ideas and exciting rendezvous,
With chastity of fours seasons,
Remained however, a stranger in the wanderers' land.