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Poem

Is it because life pleads with love
Or love keeps longing for life
I still live on
Even as the hearse waits
Leaning on my gate

Is it because I flock
With doves of your bosom
And harvest poetry
Zealous scalpel scarifies them
Leaving wounds resembling a clown's grins

And I see a hasty autumn
Plucking away your wayward curls
From your mane's nights
Locks after locks till your face is
Only an empty moon on a purple pillow

I find myself in a dream
In a deserted garden
Under a thundering sky
Chipping away lumps of frozen tears
From the bust of Venus
And I see eyes of the goddess
As blank as fate's promises 

When I wake up
I see you in deep slumber
Like a ripening ear of rice
Swaying in gentle lullaby of lazy winds
And I wonder
Had it not been for the mutinous cells
You would be dancing in the rain by now
Sprinkling on my face drops of wet laughter
Letting your rain-soaked tresses loose wildly
In sweet drunkeness
Somewhere in the mountains

But then
Hoping for the days
Where cicadas dream to whisper like snow
Where pine twigs burn like incense in bushfires
Where sparrows tell stories to pumpkins on thatched roofs
Where cows return home in gold dust of a bronze sunset
Where before the sun drowns itself in the red river
You once raised
Hem of your dress above the blue veins on your ankles
And waded in foamy waves carefreely
I'm left with nothing
But to curse the uprising bluntly
With no malice to crabs

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