Liu Zirong

Singapore

- INTJ/INFJ
- typical Libra
- Ravendor
- literature fanatic
- author of 1 book
&1 more in progress!
- tennis & track team
- painting, writing, reading!
- animes!!!
- singing & song writing & flute
- a perfectionist and a dreamer :)

Message from Writer

Dreamers can never be tamed :)

We are leaping gleefully up and down, hugging one another, singing, shouting, and saying, "It's so hot out here!" -- like the children we will never, ever cease to be.
-- Paulo Coelho, *Aleph*

The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?

Answer.
That you are here—that life exists and identity,
That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.
-- Walt Whitman

Published Work

Diabolically Yours


  you said you saw the demon in my eyes
while i saw only angels in yours

  i beg you please stop whispering 
farewell into my ears,
  though i was addicted to humdrum

  we were two progressive waves superposed
and our love went stationary 

  could no longer

move on








 

Diabolically Yours


  you said you saw the demon in my eyes
while i only saw angels in yours

  could you please stop whispering 
farewell into my ears,
  though i was addicted to humdrum

  we were two progressive waves superposed
and our love went stationary 

  could no longer

move on

January Grab Bag

A Romantic Fallacy


- Write a poem using the sentence “It was as soft as silk, but as hard as stone.” (by Rohan’s Defender) :)

love,
i was entranced by this esoteric lexicon
— episodic encounters
left in me     ludicrous escapism
    and fleeting moments I hopelessly clung on to

your voice rang on my dreams
— i choked on the honey-coated air
          waiting for my execution
    with dancing toes —
every word falling off your lips 
ignited poetry in me 
    how i hoped they were from your heart
your heart

even though i know, i know
it was as soft as silk, but as hard as stone

 

Writing Resolution

Things That Must Be Done This Year

Just wanna put these simply haha:

1. finish my 30-chapter semi-fictional memoir thing & translate it(I'm currently stuck at chapter 3 lol)
2. write more poems and write them in a new way
3. write in more unfamiliar genres 

Happy new year everyone, and happy writing <3!

 

Just

I was elegant 
until you flew by like a wind
April was no longer clear in my eyes
Red-tinged emotions overflowed the skyline
Picking the wilted flowers of Time
I lost all my nerves

How, how would the litany for myself go
Shattered clocks were tapping to the sound
— dancing in the boiling water
I was calculating my pace to heaven
with melancholy wavering in my eyes

You didn’t arrive on time
My spins flowed from the circular fountain 
I waited from dawn to dusk 
from grass green to lily white
and eventually found myself standing at 
the other end of the planet you passed by

All lost thoughts were freed in words
Someday I ended my diary 
no poetry     no rain
sorrow no longer fluttered in brightness
I stuffed the last letter to myself 
into the mail box — location: one light year away

I finally heard from you —
you told me about the ambush...

The Pier


i dream of a little space in 
  the vast expanse of the sky
to gain a foothold in
  you are as still as a statue
the distance is engraved into your dark eyes
  you drift about the sky, holding my soul

Walk with You


those who’d stayed opened up their umbrellas and left
those who were in line chattered nonstop
cutting in the silence were cracks of popcorns 
in the mouth    with soft echoes

when the lights were turned on
the world became dazzling
we didn’t talk    yet
put down the already cold drinks 
and snacks
in much sync
and fled the scene

the cinema was like a lurking beast
we by chance escaped its tusks
floating onto the street   we opened our umbrellas
and walked in silence —
your tiptoe brushing against my heel

Catalog


a familiar experience
as if your name was called by past memories
you didn’t have the time, or patience
to search for the specific fragments
a habitual glance at your watch
and a quiet self-deprecating laugh
at the resemblance of NAMES

THAT book was eventually picked up
you scanned through the cover, and flipped to 
the CATALOG
a deliberate title 
could not catch your interest
you silently sighed:
again, a poor judgement

it turned out
you were no longer the wide-eyed kid
with unconstraint imagination 
no longer dwelling on 
the arrangements of letters
or the underlying patterns
the edges of idealism had been smoothed by 
time
while our telepathy
decayed into a hollow echo

the phone alarm rang
you put down the book and hurried out 
of the bookstore
the lines that your eyes roved over
instantly slipped into the wind
the air secretly carried away 
the lingering smell of ink at your fingertip

the catalog didn’t manage to tell...

How I Spent the Day Before 2021

The celebration party was cancelled owing to the cloudburst.

I was overwhelmed by a tide of discontent. The last day of the year was just supposed to be a day with little rituals. Usually the rain here is short, yet since yesterday the weather'd turned gloomy and damp all day. I was completely kicked out of the mood after skimming through several weather reports. Just do something meaningful inside the hostel. I said to myself. 

I'd long wanted to learn more about Greek mythology, and I believe watching Gods' School would be an excellent start. So I decided to binge watch it, until I found out there are only 3 episodes. 

Restless for no reason, I forced myself to pick up the Chinese book I'd read halfway through. Whenever I feel low, books can always drag me out of the abyss. Slowly I was intrigued. The rest of the afternoon was spent reading the book and I decided to write...

Pandemic Memoir

Sadly

my Screen Time is blown up.

Writers Do Not Believe in Tears (R.j.Elsewhere's Prompt)

We are writers, my love. We don't cry. We bleed on paper.
-- Lady E. Woolf


"Remember to go to bed earlier."

For a long while, this has been the last text my mom would send me in our every conversation.

And every time, my reply is in perfect compliance. Only in a literal sense, of course. 

Unfortunately I was born a night owl writer, but fortunately we have a vast sea in between us.

Some time ago I searched a silly question online and saw an article at the bottom of the page titled "Night Owl Writers in Danger of Early Death". I laughed out loud instantly. Scientifically true? Maybe. But NEVER EVER try to use those data and studies and research bullshit to confine anything about writers. The fact is, my heart has long fallen dead — my frantically idealistic soul has long withered in this insanely realistic world and been reincarnated in words, and my blood's been draining on...

Writers Do Not Believe in Tears (R.j.Elsewhere's Prompt)

We are writers, my love. We don't cry. We bleed on paper.
-- Lady E. Woolf


"Remember to go to bed earlier."

For a long while, this has been the last text my mom would send me in our every conversation.

And every time, my reply is in perfect compliance. Only in a literal sense, of course. 

Unfortunately I was born a night owl writer, but fortunately we have a vast sea in between us.

Some time ago I searched a silly question online and saw an article at the bottom of the page titled "Night Owl Writers in Danger of Early Death". I laughed out loud instantly. Scientifically true? Maybe. But NEVER EVER try to use those data and studies and research bullshit to confine anything about writers. The fact is, my heart has long fallen dead — my frantically idealistic soul has long withered in this insanely realistic world and been reincarnated in words, and my blood's been draining on...

​A Sonnet for Insomnia

Sinking in the river of emotions
Bewildered, this dream is more real than life 
— and much tougher for a penetration 

So I decided to clear up the lines
Restructure the abstractions of my past
Thought I’ve been acquainted enough with Time 

Ruminating over questions you asked 
With fear and craving, wide awake I stayed
Now weighing between misfortune and luck

As I turned the page for Time, my thoughts swayed 
To my castle in the air. Slow motion
The songs of wood frogs were fading away

The wail of sirens tore my dreams open
I heard you murmur, “Hallucination.”

Mid-December Grab Bag

Phone Calls, Letters, and You

Prompt: Write about your favourite memory, but from the POV of someone besides yourself. (by wreathwriter

We last called each other...well...about 1 year ago. 

Phone calls are an important component of our lives. When we were younger we could not stop twittering and laughing over the phone, and ended up being forced to hang off by our parents each time because we had not finished our work or it was time for meals. After we stepped into secondary school, our phone calls were suddenly shortened, not by any adult, but by our timetables and ever-more barren land of "topics in common". After all, we were no longer in the same class, though only one wall away. She, as expected, got into the best and most competitive one, and had smiled less ever since. We would still walk together and chat if we met each other on the way back home or to school. Music, school, gossip. She loves...

Mid-December Grab Bag

Phone Calls, Letters, and You

Prompt: Write about your favourite memory, but from the POV of someone besides yourself. (by wreathwriter

We last called each other...well...about 1 year ago. 

Phone calls are an important component of our lives. When we were younger we could not stop twittering and laughing over the phone, and ended up being forced to hang off by our parents each time because we had not finished our work or it was time for meals. After we stepped into secondary school, our phone calls were suddenly shortened, not by any adult, but by our timetables and ever-more barren land of "topics in common". After all, we were no longer in the same class, though only one wall away. She, as expected, got into the best and most competitive one, and had smiled less ever since. We would still walk together and chat if we met each other on the way back home or to school. Music, school, gossip. She likes...

e.e. cummings would hate this


now i'm mad said she 
not my bad said he

i didn't know said she
what a show said he

what should i do said she
my meeting's at two said he

oh said she
so said he

see u there said she 
ummm where said he

hell

 

The Drabble

Masquerade

"The Masquerade is over. We can take off our masks now."

A kind voice drops into my ear. I raise my head and see a cute girl standing in front of me, smiling brightly.

"What...what mask?" I feel confused, but my attention is quickly grabbed away by her enchanting curved lips.

"The mask on your face, of course!" She appears a bit surprised, "Like this. Follow me."

I watch her cover her face with both hands. Seconds later, she moves them away. Her curved lips are now pursed; tears are streaming down her face.

"Try?"

"But...but I don't have one..."





 

e.e. cummings would hate this

now i'm mad said she 
not my bad said he

i didn't know said she
i didn't know that said he

what should I do said she
my meeting's at two said he

oh said she
so said he

bye said she 
where are you going said he

to hell

said she

e.e. cummings would hate this

now I'm mad said she 
not my bad said he

I didn't know said she
I didn't know that said he

what should I do said she
my meeting's at two said he

oh said she
so said he

bye said she 
where are you going said he

to hell

said she

The Chosen One

A black rose.

Although he had never seen a black rose in his life, he devoutly believed that it was the most appropriate description for her, at that moment. 

Wearing a black velvety dress, she was standing on the podium, under the dazzling spotlight. When the principal handed her the trophy, she smiled, more beautifully than ever, revealing her perfect white teeth.

Such elegance. Such grace. Such…talent.

He would never, ever match with her. 

But he would always be there, as a loyal audience, watching her in scalding fervour. 

They are both majoring mathematics in the best university in this country. And they were both the best student from their cities. People say they are way too similar, but he knows clearly how abysmally different the fact is: she climbed to the top with gift, he with insane assiduity. 

Now as the level of difficulty flies up, his strategies seem no longer as effective. Those previously well-behaved mathematical formulas start to...

Creative Nonfiction Competition 2020

A Reverie Between the Lines

He laughed. Once the laughter had subsided, it struck him what a long time it had been since he’d laughed like that.(1)

As my gaze drifted over the lines, a tinge of inexplicable feelings suddenly caught me off guard. What a long time it had been, I wondered, since I’d got a chance to sit down somewhere and read a book full-heartedly, without any disturbance. So far, HBL(2) brought me nothing but comfort — I managed to be slightly less sleep-deprived, could finally study at my own pace, and most importantly — I was granted ample time to read. And write. 

To me the coronavirus appeared distant, though the situation had long not been rosy here in Singapore. A hard battle for many. They dominated the headlines which my eyes would mechanically skim through every day. But I, being cooped up in the hostel, had not felt any real danger looming up at all. 

Across the vast expanse of...

Creative Nonfiction Competition 2020

A Reverie Between the Lines

He laughed. Once the laughter had subsided, it struck him what a long time it had been since he’d laughed like that.(1)

As my gaze drifted over the lines, a tinge of inexplicable feelings suddenly caught me off guard. What a long time it had been, I wondered, since I’d got a chance to sit down somewhere and read a book full-heartedly, without any disturbance. So far, HBL(2) brought me nothing but comfort — I managed to be slightly less sleep-deprived, could finally study at my own pace, and most importantly — I was granted ample time to read. And write. 

To me the coronavirus appeared distant, though the situation had long not been rosy here in Singapore. A hard battle for many. They dominated the headlines which my eyes would mechanically skim through every day. But I, being cooped up in the hostel, had not felt any real danger looming up at all. 

Across the vast expanse of...

Creative Nonfiction Competition 2020

A Reverie Between the Lines

He laughed. Once the laughter had subsided, it struck him what a long time it had been since he’d laughed like that.(1)

As my gaze drifted over the lines, a tinge of inexplicable feelings suddenly caught me off guard. What a long time it had been, I wondered, since I’d got a chance to sit down somewhere and read a book full-heartedly, without any disturbance. So far, HBL(2) brought me nothing but comfort — I managed to be slightly less sleep-deprived, could finally study at my own pace, and most importantly — I was granted ample time to read. And write. 

To me the coronavirus appeared distant, though the situation had long not been rosy here in Singapore. A hard battle for many. They dominated the headlines which my eyes would mechanically skim through every day. But I, being cooped up in the hostel, had not felt any real danger looming up at all. 

Across the vast expanse of...

Willow Does not Mean Spring

Protagonist Profile
 
  • Name of the Protagonist?
Wyllow
  • What does this character look like?
a redheaded, pigtail-swinging little girl with loud laugh.
  • What makes this character unusual?
A traveler of different parallel universes, hence actions could be weird at times; sometimes she gives persuasive predictions about different consequences of a decision.
  • What is this character’s backstory? (How old are they? Where do they come from? What is their family like?) 
She appears as a little girl, but is virtually aged millions of years. As the 2nd Emissary of Universe(with no explicitly known origin), she travels through parallel universes, witnessing the consequences of different decisions to help the right people on Earth to make the right choices.
  • How would you describe this character’s life in three words? 
meaningful yet painful.
  • What inspires this character? When and where are they happiest? What is this character’s greatest hope?
Hayao Miyazaki‘s animes My Neighbour Totoro and Kiki's Delivery Service. The character is the happiest...

Finale

I brought Christmas gifts for her. 

No gingerbread men in glass jars or spiced cookies — this time I handmade a pair of Christmas-style socks. And a letter. 

When inserting the letter into the envelope, my heart skipped a beat.

The envelope had lovely patterns — a chubby bear holding a pinwheel. I smiled when sealing it. After that, I stood up.

It’d been a year since I went to study in Singapore. While I was busy fitting in, she was staying up for the upcoming university entrance exam. Not much communication, but I felt satisfied still. After all, she was my best friend. 

I strode briskly into her block. 

Her mother greeted me with a warm smile. I swung off my slippers and ran inside. How would she react? What had she prepared for me? 

She was quietly sitting on the sofa, staring at her phone. “Charlotte!” Her eyes were lifted with surprise and slight reluctance. 

I pushed the...

Finale

I brought Christmas gifts for her. 

No gingerbread men in glass jars or spiced cookies — this time I handmade a pair of Christmas-style socks. And a letter. 

When I was inserting the letter into the envelope, my heart skipped a beat.

The envelope had lovely patterns — a chubby bear holding a pinwheel. I chuckled when I sealed it. After that, I stood up.

It’d been a year since I went to study in Singapore. I was busy fitting in that new environment, while she staying up for the upcoming university entrance exam. Not much communication, but I felt satisfied still. After all, she was my best friend. 

I strode briskly into her block. 

Her mother greeted me with a warm smile. I swung off my slippers and ran inside. How would she react? What had she prepared for me? 

She was quietly sitting on the sofa, staring at her phone. I called her name. Her eyes were lifted...

Novel Writing Competition 2020

Shuyu

“Stop! Why are you running?” 

Shuyu, desperate and cracked, ran with frantic steps. The girl chased behind him, and he could see her hair floating loose in the air. When he reached the corner of the hutong*, a cunning look flashed across his face — “I’ve got this,” he murmured to himself, as if for reassurance. He then turned left with a rush — at that moment, a hand grabbed his collar. 

“It’s of no use. I was the champion of the girls’ sprint competition.” The girl blocked his way and threw him a sly wink, hands busy tying up her hair. Her hair was nice and silky, some gently swept his neck in that haste, and Shuyu had an itch. But soon the fear and guilt as a thief took the upper hand in his mind. He straightened to show his “manliness,” but avoided eye contact with her. 

There was a short silence. 

The girl softly chuckled for his clumsy...

Novel Writing Competition 2020

Shuyu

“Stop! Why are you running?” 

Shuyu, desperate and cracked, ran with frantic steps. The girl chased behind him, and he could see her hair floating loose in the air. When he reached the corner of the Hutong*, a cunning look flashed upon his face — “I’ve got this,” he murmured to himself, as if for reassurance. When he was turning left with a rush, a hand grabbed his collar. 

“It’s of no use. I was the champion for the girls’ sprint competition.” The girl blocked his way and threw him a sly wink, hands busy tying up her hair. Her hair was nice and silky, some gently swept his neck in that haste, and Shuyu had an itch. But soon the fear and guilt as a thief took the upper hand in his mind. He straightened to show his “manliness,” but avoided eye contact with her. 

A short silence. 

She softly chuckled for his clumsy feint, intentionally throwing her face...

Why I Write

Interlude

I write for catharsis. For emotions I've not yet learnt to place in silent mode. For quiet growth, like a bamboo shoot. For all the past pinky promises that vanished with the wind. For all those I love, or un-loved. For people who drift in and out of my life. For the angels of the Universe. For the unveiled mysteries deep down my soul. I write for myself, for my one and only mission as the messenger of Fate, and for all of you, for our encounters in the past, present or future, occasionally with sparks colliding into fireworks.

Why I Write

Interlude

I write for catharsis. For emotions I've yet learnt to place in silent mode. For quiet growth, like a bamboo shoot. For all the past pinky promises that vanished with the wind. For all those I love, or un-loved. For people who drift in and out of my life. For the angels of the Universe. For the unveiled mysteries deep down my soul. I write for myself, for my one and only mission as the messenger of Fate, and for all of you, for our encounters in the past, present or future, occasionally with sparks colliding into fireworks.

Why I Write

Interlude

I write for catharsis. For emotions I've yet learnt to place in silent mode. For quiet growth, like a bamboo shoot. For all the past pinky promises that vanished with the wind. For all those I love, or un-loved. For people who drift in and out of my life. For the angles of the Universe. For the unveiled mysteries deep down my soul. I write for myself, for my one and only mission as the messenger of Fate, and for all of you, for our encounters in the past, present or future, occasionally with sparks colliding into fireworks.

Speechwriting Competition 2020

When I Say Lit

I am not the super perseverant type, nor a fan of the sloth philosophy. For the past years, while simply being myself, I have clung to only a few things, one of which is literature.  

Maybe it's just meant to be. I prefer to imagine some epic missions assigned to me by Fate. Yet I know the ordinariness of this impulse all the more explicitly second by second. Or perhaps I should say "down-to-earth" instead? As I continue writing, the sense of distance, sacred yet poignant, gracefully melts into a sense of belonging, an ever-more ardent craving for Home. 

I grabbed the pencil on my desk at the age of 6, and wrote some simple stories which I would now wow at with a nostalgic smile. A slightly more formal attempt began at 9 when children's literature robbed my heart and, as nothing is ever impossible for kids, I scribbled down around 100 thousand Chinese characters in my notebooks...

Psychic Distance

Log 10001

1. Their ship is lost at sea. Boarders are desperate. The shore is now the shrine.

2. The journey was planned for only one week, but now it is their 71st day on the ship. The seed of desperation is slowly burgeoning in their mind, growing with every heartthrob. They miss Home.

3. 69,70,71...Counting "up" the numbers and days left for their wilting only amplifies their fear. Who knows they would get stuck here for goddamned 71 days, perhaps more? They have never felt such desperation for a sight of the shore. 

4. It was our 71st day at sea. Absurdly the journey was planned for only one week. 

Time dragged its feet in such a delicate way that complaints and sighs vanished after the 23rd day. Everyone simply locked themselves in their rooms — the only predictable place on the sea. Af first each room had its earnest attempt at self-assurance: card games, darts, or arduously kept-up idiotic conversations. Gradually...

Writing Streak Challenge -- Week 5

Writing Streak Challenge wk4 -- completed!

1. An experienced storyteller who appreciates the power of reticence at the same time.
2. A shelter for nostalgia and booming life.
3. The performer of the Ballad of Earth.
4. The branches are strings of dancing musical notes.
5. A tree is a deep green metaphor.

Writing Streak Challenge -- Week 5

Writing Streak Challenge wk4 -- completed!

1. An experienced storyteller who appreciates the power of reticence at the same time.
2. A shelter for nostalgia and booming life.
3. The performer of the Ballad of Earth.
4. The branches are strings of dancing musical notes.

Flash Fiction Competition 2020

Letter from an Unknown Girl

She wrote: time is passing very slowly here.

You played with the bird, sometimes it would warble out your tears. Eventually you gave in and started to reconnect yourself by all means. The creeping time left a hole. It just felt not enough.

You've been waiting for dawn for long. But every now and then you only saw the dusk dancing in frenzied colours.

Sometimes no colour.

The calendar slipped out of your memory. You didn't bother to notice.

Once this was your home, she wrote, now not even a cage.

You are the bird warbling only in dreams. 



 

Willow Does not Mean Spring

Protagonist Profile
  • Name of the Protagonist?
Wyllow
  • What does this character look like?
a redheaded, pigtail-swinging little girl with loud laugh.
  • What makes this character unusual?
A traveler of different parallel universes, hence actions could be weird at times; sometimes she gives persuasive predictions about different consequences of a decision.
  • What is this character’s backstory? (How old are they? Where do they come from? What is their family like?) 
She appears as a little girl, but is virtually aged millions of years. As the 2nd Emissary of Universe(with no explicitly known origin), she travels through parallel universes, witnessing the consequences of different decisions to help the right people on Earth to make the right choices.
  • How would you describe this character’s life in three words? 
meaningful yet painful.
  • What inspires this character? When and where are they happiest? What is this character’s greatest hope?
Hayao Miyazaki‘s animes My Neighbour Totoro and Kiki's Delivery Service. The character is the happiest when...

Letter Writing Competition 2020

To X in December

Dear X,

I'm missing you -- I have to say -- quite a bit. It has been quarantine after quarantine after quarantine, and my plan to slowly "intrude" upon your life was greatly disrupted. Alas. This is funny, since I never even looked at you for a single second when we met in school. I did not know how you took this paradox, this open secret. Fine for me whatever, as your hurting response(though I don't believe you'll ever have one) may set me free from this shackle.

Forgive me for using this word. Every time I pretended not to notice you my heart trembled. There was once we accidentally sat too close for me to breathe properly, so I chose to escape to the school library. I may be quite different from what I appear to be like, X. Perhaps you already know that. Then I hope you won't hate me for being not as positive, as easygoing, or...

Letter Writing Competition 2020

To X in December

Dear X,

I'm missing you -- I have to say -- quite a bit. It has been quarantine after quarantine after quarantine, and my plan to slowly "intrude" upon your life was greatly disrupted. Alas. This is funny, since I never even looked at you for a single second when we met in school. I did not know how you took this paradox, this open secret. Fine for me whatever, as your hurting response(though I don't believe you'll ever have one) may set me free from this shackle.

Forgive me for using this word. Every time I pretended not to notice you my heart trembled. There was once we accidentally sat too close for me to breathe properly, so I chose to escape to the school library. I may be quite different from what I appear to be like, X. Perhaps you already know that. Then I hope you won't hate me for being not as positive, as easygoing, or...

Playwriting Competition 2020

When Time Collapses Again

CHARACTERS(see footnotes)

Act 1
Scene 1

Spotlight rises up, revealing a classroom and a tree some distance away. Soft background music.

A late afternoon. Zita rushes out of her classroom, heavily panting. She stops under a hazel tree. Some distance away, in the classroom, loud buzz and harsh laughters can be heard.

ZITA
(murmuring nervously)
What should I do? What should I do?

ALDEN
(clears his throat)
No big deal, Zita, just explain to them again.

Background music pauses.

ZITA
(still panting)
No, Alden, you don’t understand. It’s not the first time. But I DID see her, just outside the classroom. I don’t know her, but I saw that she gestured to speak with me. I tried to explain to them, but no one believed my words, and they called me ‘liar’ and even asked me to see a psychiatrist!

Soft, light background music resumes.

ALDEN
(gently)
It’s fine, Zita. Most people...

Poetry and Spoken Word Competition 2020

Renascence

Beloved beauty from thee,
Helios’ chariot stops;
Incomparably mighty as thee,
Trinity of trinities hops.
Yet I blow ALL tales and myths away,
Windows dark, memories grey.


I ask my soul for philosophy of life,
Belittling the rigid, sighing at the rife.
Wonders spring up when words are reknit,
Poetry shouts out, proses bite.


The immortal unlaid forbear thee,
Art is lock, and love is key;
I, floating amidst the guileless masses,
Swallow the oath, rise above my own ashes.


Fear and terror are cleared away,
New birth, O, my Lord lay.
Daringly glitter as thou may,
My soul ascends high as I pray.


No oracle has ever touched down,
Yet Pandora’s Hope burgeons above ground.
‘For three he plays,
 For three he strays,
 And for the last three he stays.’
‘Start all over again!’ I now dare say.

Writing Streak Challenge Week 3

Day 2

One blink and, all are gone.

In Motion

Fragment

She missed the calculated ring of his bicycle bell, and every single time the smell of the same washing powder and his breath nudged to her by the afternoon breeze. The sun tinged him soft gold from the back, and in a trance the colours of her world simultaneously flowed around her. Sometimes he would turn back and squeeze out a silly face; sometimes he wouldn't. The brown curls of his hair jiggled in the wind, unconsciously tugging at her heartstrings. She felt a slight quiver in her lips. She hated the sway of her mind, yet that tiny bit trace of grey quickly vanished once he turned left at the corner of the road. Too fast a dream. Now it is all gone. Several steps away -- she's ready to leave the page of yesterday. Sunlight shifting, sweat in her palms, she paused for the last 2 seconds and then, determined, moving her shadow to the right...

In Motion

Fragment

She missed the calculated ring of his bicycle bell, and every single time the smell of the same washing powder and his breath nudged to her by the afternoon breeze. The sun tinged him soft gold from the back, and in a trance the colours of her world simultaneously flowed around her. Sometimes he would turn back and make a silly face; sometimes he wouldn't. The brown curls of his hair jiggled in the wind, unconsciously tugging at her heartstrings. She felt a slight quiver in her lips. She hated this unstable state of mind, yet that tiny bit trace of grey quickly vanished once he turned left at the corner of the road. Too fast a dream. Now it is all gone. Several steps away -- she's ready to leave the page of yesterday. Sunlight shifting, sweat in her palms, she paused for the last 2 seconds and then, determined, moving her shadow to the right side...

Writing Streak Challenge Week 2

Through My Window

1.
Windows open
Doors were crossed
Counting down: the second last day in school
Expecting a silmutanous wave of sadness
yet the windows are still open
fresh air rushing onto our faces
When we are both inside the window
it is, just a little bit too fast, to say goodbye

2.
Scrolling down the screen 
posts of exactly the same style 
Losing mindfulness and, being forced 
into extreme boredom
Putting headphones on, I clicked on 
Alec Benjamin's newly released
"Six feet apart"
One day away, I'm wondering about
the colour of the wind 
when our classroom windows are shut down

3.
A wall of glass
A heart of glass
Which one breaks first?

4.
Being addicted to his lines,
"Oh I miss you most at six feet apart,
when you're right outside my window 
but can't ride inside my car
And it hurts to know just
how lovely you are
being too far away to hold but close enough
to break...

Solidarity

You Know

You know, 
Just as an idea of the greatest invention always pops up in the craziest and most unexpected instant  
The greatest innovation always grows out of extreme boredom

Suddenly people discover that 
Social media is a better platform for mutual support and
Little lovely pieces of fun, than for hate speech
Suddenly the underlying meanings of “community” are expanded 
Kindness is proven again as the language which the deaf can hear and the blind can see
—— it heals the soul

People start to pick up those ideas 
that they would have laughed off with no second thoughts
People start to plant ideas and finally get the chance
to “take the time” in their life and wait for the flowers 
to bloom —— a sea of faces beamed with joy
Suddenly the world is more colourful than anyone thought 
It’s fun to SEE more when you are seeing less

We are not caged birds
We are individuals in...

Solidarity

You Know

You know, 
Just as an idea of the greatest invention always pops up in the craziest and most unexpected instant  
The greatest innovation always grows out of an extreme boredom

Suddenly people discover that 
Social media is a better platform for mutual support and
Little lovely pieces of fun, than for hate speech
Suddenly the underlying meanings of “community” are expanded 
Kindness is proven again as the language which the deaf can hear and the blind can see
—— it heals the soul

People start to pick up those ideas 
that they would have laughed off with no second thoughts
People start to plant ideas and finally get the chance
to “take the time” in their life and wait for the flowers 
to bloom —— a sea of faces beamed with joy
Suddenly the world is more colourful than anyone thought 
It’s fun to SEE more when you are seeing less

We are not caged birds
We are individuals...

Seven Delights

Iridescence

1. The Sun up there, me in scattered shadows of lovely grey, walking past my favourite bakery.

2. We haven't seen each other for a little while. She waved me a huge hi, I responded with a remote hug. Crowd in between us. 

3. Occasionally on cloud nine, after paying for a long-craved book :)

4. Nothing much to say, and nothing for complaint. Life doesn't suck.

5. I suddenly realised there are so many people I feel happy to see. That's what school is about.

6. He still shines like a diamond.

7. Afternoon tea. A laptop. A book. A girl smiling like, "Well?"

Love After Love

Summer Dance

When something is missing in your heart
So is the glint in your eye

Beleaguered by coldness in this hot summer 
I murmured to myself:
Who stole the colour of my life?

No iridescence, no mischievousness
Until she appeared
Plunging into a bottomless abyss
Until she arrived

Insecurity triggered up 
I was impelled to dance with this stranger
Her waltz, her ballet, her jazz
Everything seemed so familiar yet, untouchable ——
She spelled “deja vu” in my palm with soft, lovely dye

Stories still untold
A new form of love unfolds

She stopped and stared into me
Limpid look, open arms
To embrace the world or me?
Or both, with a whisper of “hi”

I wanted to dance with her into the summer 
still trembling, but ready to move on, 
to pick up what was glittering in my soul 
I raised my head and reached out a hand
She smiled 
The summer rays were special, warm and bright