Glass

Therein lies a sliver of glass

Amongst the moon-coloured grass

Translucent, luminous, deadly.

Why, do you remember

The tales of yesternight?

Of quiet screams and loud silence?

Swathed in their purple robes of moonlight

The silvery wisps of grass remain tranquil

Bearing rust-stained crowns upon their heads

An elegance rivalled only by kings and queens.

And the tiny piece of glass

Grinned as radiantly

As only glass can.

Rain

The breeze brushed its cold fingers across one's senses
With just the right touch of course -
A barest hint of tenderness within icy strictness
Instead of deadening dreams, a wakening.

Off with those sandals
Upon the table as naughty vandals
Yet sit - not perch - with a graceful air
As the weaving of dreams caresses fine hair.

Demurely folded hands upon a lap
Feet tucked neatly beneath her chair
(Chair, did I say, table I mean!)
In imitation of a lady fair.

Umbrellas parade the street ahead disguised
As colourful flowers spreading their petals
Behind, the lush green trees of a miniature forest
Whispered unknown secrets

Rain, wash away this empty longing
Wind, guide every strand of hair where you would
Mist, envelop those wistful musings
Of a young maiden approaching eighteen winters.

A dream of the past.

A photograph, deliberately blurred around the edges,

A smile, strangely shadowy and detached.

Tinkling peals of laughter accentuated with sadness,

Those soft enquiring eyes of yesteryears caught unaware.

The maiden I could have been, the lady I am not,

A slight breeze brushing past, as the fingers of destiny intervene.

The briefest glimpse of what would have been had I a different lot,

A soft ache of inexplicable longing, not quite pain.

Alas, this fragile reality entraps me,

A soft web of gossamer silk binds me.

Though somehow I regret not,

Traversing this passage of moonlight as Time passes by.

Muse – Who am I?

To have more than your best friend.

Every tear, every smile is shared between true friends.

You thought your best friend had more than you, but you were wrong.

For all happiness, all sadness is divided equally among friends.

And you have your best friend in addition to all that.

Isn’t that more than enough?

What would be the meaning of friendship, otherwise?

Paradox

A far-fetched dream,

Dissolving into the emptiness of reality.

A trickling, flowing stream,

Softening into the chamber of thought.

An icy-cold rain,

Melting into the solidity of warmth.

A heart-sharpened pain,

Liquefying into the medicines of time.

A silently whispered name,

Blending into the divinity of vibrations.

A temperamental, fiery flame,

Diffusing into the tenderness of darkness.

A tribute to my beloved SJ8C. Thank you for being a part of my life.

Dedicated exclusively to SJ8C-rians:

离

水月相随永不分,

茫茫苍海亦不断;

犹如良伴知心人,

凉风掀起轻呼唤.

天下无不散宴席,

但却无不叹宴客;

送君千里虽佳习,

终需有一别之刻.

绵绵泪水细如雨,

心中乱麻杂如草;

山伯英台欲成鱼,

痛恨离别分离朝.

抽刀断水水更流,

举杯消愁愁更愁;

君若痛恨离别酒,

更是深叹离别惆.

天长地久有时尽,

此恨绵绵无绝期;

离别自古诗人吟,

世世代代诗人提.

学海生涯点点滴,

小女子没齿难忘;

多少回忆记心底,

如那凶涌澎湃浪.

当年君所许之诺,

当年闻所芳花香;

离别在即若曾过,

妹子在此愿君谅.

Night

The night was still.

No, not quite.

Leaves rustled as

nocturnal creatures scampered

through the woods.

She was there.

Gently twirling in

an eternal dance

of the moon.

The moonlight created

silver highlights in

the long dark hair

framing a lovely pale face.

Her steps were silent.

Quick, light, and measured.

Her black dress looked

as if it was weaved of silver thread.

She made not the slightest ripple,

her graceful feet slid in and out

of the shallow stream in the woods

as she continued her moonlight dance.

The moon cast strange shadows

across her face as

she smiled knowingly

humming an eerie melody.

For she was

The Guardian of the Shadows,

The Moon Lady,

The Mistress of Darkness.

And the night belonged to her.

My angel, they knoweth naught; My hopes, vague shattered thoughts.

My angel, they knoweth naught;

My hopes, vague shattered thoughts.

The sun sets - it is dusk outside,

Yet the darkness within - I can hardly abide.

How long should one wait,

How long till the bait?

My very bones start to ache,

My heart sings of sorrow’s egg.

Should one’s foolish fears be fulfilled,

A prospect that leaves one chilled;

The fool should do well not to regret,

And of course, the present not to neglect.

A fool, an ignoramus, I’m silly, I know,

I trust in the clarity of the arrow.

Yet it’s a thought by no means cheerful,

Ignorant me, I can’t but help being woeful.

I care too much, you see,

I can’t help it, it’s me.

Everyone thinks a fire is strong,

They know not, they are wrong.

A fire has a strong façade and more,

But when one strikes the inner core;

The naivety,

The vulnerability.

It scares me.

風火の雲氷炎

土曜日 秋 霧

おさない て に すすんだ

ふるえてる その ひかり を

ここまで たどてきた

ぎかん の ふし を さまよい

さがし すずけて きたよ

なまえ さえ しらないけれど

ただ ひとす の おもい を

あなた に てわたしたくて

とき わ あ い も いたみ き

ふかく だきとめ

けして ゆくけと わたし わ

おぼえている

ずとー

わたし の むね の おく に

いすからか ひびいて いたー

よすゆ の しずく より も

かすかな ささやきだけど

いてすく ほし の やみ え

すむぐ いのり が

とどく よう にー

ルオ ハオ ヱンさん,

風ー火

ゆエ しン

A story without the vowel “e” with obvious exception of title. (A reader challenged me to attempt this.)

“Do you think cows can fly? I saw a cow fly. ” A dirty-looking boy said softly at Solomon’s Roads.
“And pigs can fly too,” I said, smiling.
“It’s not an untruth,” this boy said indignantly.
“All right,” I said, humouring him. “Show this girl a flying cow.”
Thus, our young lad brought yours truly to a tiny rundown barn down a path off Solomon’s Roads. I shall abstain from portraying said barn’s aroma for I worry administrators would bring a particular humanoid into custody on indict of polluting minds of our young scholars.
I saw nothing but a skinny cow with this black coat of fur that I thought was originally brown. “Moo,” said Blawn.
“John, this cow can’t fly,” I told my youthful pal.
“It can fly. I saw it,” insists my childish companion.
“All right,” said I again, about to turn away and walk off.
John told Blawn “Cari bombi loo lanny ma kalia phsaki rani santai.”
I always thought this child was odd. I was about to say a word or two but Blawn was sprouting a pair of pink crystal wings at that point. Blawn hung in thin air by his wings. Gobsmacking but spot on. Cows can fly, I murmur ramblingly.
It did not occur to yours truly right away that Blawn was no ordinary cow. “Wow. Cool,” I told Blawn. It was a wrong thing to say. For an unknown basis, Blawn took an instant look at this girl and did not akin to what it saw…
“Do you think cows can fly? I saw a cow fly. ” I said softly at Solomon’s Roads, soot framing my mug, dust and dirt clinging to my clothing.
“And pigs can fly too,” an old man said, smiling.
“It’s not an untruth,” I said indignantly.
“All right, show this guy a flying cow.”
I think “Cool” is Blawn’s word for “Kick” in human vocalizations.

A story without the vowel "a". (Of course, except for this title.xD)

Once, there used to be this huge country house right in the middle of town. Five beings resided in there, one from this world, two not from this universe, one from the skies, one from the undergrounds. They lived blissfully until the time the white monster from Iou turned up unexpectedly. Hence, the nice beings invited the white monster in for lunch. Surprisingly, the white monster decided to join them for dinner too. The white monster showed them plenty of cooking tricks, before he went off. So, the being from this world decided to try the tricks the white monster showed him, yet the other beings decided to try the tricks too. People told them plenty of cooks spoilt the broth, but they never listened. They put too much pepper in their morning serving of food, blowing off the roof of their mouth. Thus, they were forced to visit their doctor, this odd guy who only wore green shirts with this purple tie. The doctor told them they were considered to be lucky for despite the red smoke coming out of their mouths, they did not explode from the result of consuming too much of the explosive condiment – pepper from Jupiter. He stitched up their mouths, told them not to jump for the next twenty-four hours, consequently sending them home. The five beings were very sorry for themselves in the end, vowing never to invite white monsters from Iou into their country house in the middle of town in future.

The light at the end of the tunnel

Part One
It has been said that
sometimes the people
who go into the darkness
and come out the other side
are the strongest people ever.
Just remember, bear this in mind
don't ever go deeper and deeper inside
never to come out again, never to emerge
from the end of the tunnel to bath in the light.
I'm not Shakespeare, I'm not Picasso, or Leonardo,
but I believe that every single person has the power
the power to change the world and determine destinies.
Always trust, always presevere throughout time - eternal.

Part Two
An empty soul wandered the length of a tunnel dark,
every inch of the darkness it left its mark.
Aimlessly floating dust specks in the tunnel long,
emotions of bygone years a lost song.
Dim figures, reminiscences of the past,
seemingly an eternity it'll last.
Light at the end,
around the bend.
Future destiny,
Sanctuary.

Descending this time.

The light at the end of the tunnel
Combined:
Part one: The beginning of the journey
Part two: The ending of the journey

Part I and II creates the illusion of one entering a tunnel through a narrow entrance - the tunnel widens in the middle - and finally contracted again.
Note that the first line in Part One is of moderate length, whereas the final line in Part Two consists of a single word. Hence - the other end of the tunnel is tapered down to a higher degree than the beginning.
Part I does not rhyme and the words are simply strung together without much calculation yet the meaning is clear. Part II portrays more uniformity but the meaning is strangely vague enough. Go figure. The middle of the journey is lost somewhere in between.

The Meeting Point of Destiny

Dancing butterflies fluttering across life's deep sea,
Dreams and thoughts...memories.
Reality versus illusion,
The fragilty of life, a glass ball on a table's corner.
Tell me, who are you, really,
Who am I, really.
The meeting point of destiny,
Where does it begin..
Where does it end...
Someday our paths may cross,
Yet we would just brush past without knowing
That I could have been
That you could have been.