Never Knowing the Man I’d, Become…

This, is what you are, you are, never knowing the man I’d, become, because you were, NEVER there, watching me grow every step of the way, and, as I was younger, I’d, felt awful, that you weren’t around, to bear witness of my transformations, and now I realized, that I have, NOTHING to regret!

Never knowing the man I’d, become, my father, and, the loss will be, YOURS, and yours alone!  Nobody will, EVER care about or for you, because, you’d done, so many WRONG things in your life…

Never knowing the man I’d become, you will, forever, live, without knowing the man that I am, the man, you will, NEVER be, for I’d become, BETTER than you EVER were as a father to me, to my own young!

I vowed, to NEVER BE like you, when I had my own young and now, as my children grow older by the day, with me, watching closely by, I knew, that I’d, made the RIGHT choices in life, unlike you, who’d done, EVERYTHING wrong, from the very START…

Never knowing the man I’d become, that, is your loss, NOT mine, and, I feel sorry, that you never got to know your own children, well, I don’t, not really, because I’m NOT supposed to.  The regrets are now, ALL yours!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Doubts of the Self…

I have broken my own bones, splintered them and placed them into bags, dozens of bags of me, and I have thrown them from the windows of speeding cars in hope that you will find me after the crash, somewhere where the good girls would never go, littered between back alleys in the dark parts, […]

via The Good Girls Are Always Found — The Lithium Chronicles

The Side of You, that Nobody Sees…

There’s, that side of you, that nobody sees, but me, but WHY me, huh?  Why do I have to be the one, who deals with that ugliest side of you, that you’d, not shown, to anybody ELSE?  And, where was it written, that I must, take everything that’s BAD, that you’d, thrown at me, huh?

not my artwork…

The side of you, that nobody sees, because you were, too afraid, to show that ugly side of you self, to anybody else, but, you’d, shown it, to me!  The side of you, that nobody sees, it’s, yearning, to get noticed, by others, but, each and every single time it tries to take over, you’d, suppressed it down, deeper, deeper, deeper, into the abyss of your minds.  You’d, refused, to give that side of you, that nobody sees, any “face time”, because, you’re, afraid…of what?  I’d, wondered………

The side of you, that nobody sees, I see him, and, strangely enough, I’d, accepted him as is, damaged, broken, incomplete, and still, loved that side of you, that nobody sees just the same, and because of my kindness, you’d, abused me with it!

Now, that side of you, that nobody sees, will, always, live in the darkness, it will, NEVER show itself, as I’d, stopped myself, DEAD in my TRACKS.  Gotten THAT much-needed wake-up call now, don’t you know…

 

 

 

 

 

 

Keeping a Cask of the Himalayan Air

The metamorphosis of the mind, relating to one’s journey to the Himalayas, translated…

Finally, I’d, hauled that cask of the Himalayan air, back to Taipei.

I’d emptied out a fish tank, to give to the air to live in, and, sealed it up, I’d, fed it rocks, the pines, the snows, the sunlight, as well as the thrashing storms regularly.

At night, I’d, quietly, looked upon it with that scent of enjoyment, the air floating to and fro, I’d pointed to the air, said, “I think you’re ghostly, but, not in such resemblance, why do you always, carry that scent of hard-to-describe, blue, cold kind of pride……”

As I lay in bed, I’d heard the heavy breathes of the hikers, the drips of dew from the twigs and branches, the conversations of the animals, and there was even once, when I’d, heard an avalanche, that, shook up my house.

There was once more, that I saw, the snow lady in the Himalayan air, this daughter of the mountain deity, as she’d appeared, the fish tank started filling up with snow.  She’d appeared in India, then, moved to Nepal, or, Bhutan—all of these nations, were the primary countries of the Himalaya, and, as the snow lady appeared, there would be echoes of the Sanskrit chant echoing throughout the fish tank.

Early one morn, I’d found frosts all around the fish tank, that the glass of the tank had the cracks on it, I’d followed the three cracks, and found, “is this NOT the origin, the Indian River, the Ganges, along with the Yarlung Tsangpo River of Tibet?”, I’d asked the air, “You missed home, don’t you?”…………there was, nothing but silence in my living room, to the point, that the air turned, dead, I’d paced over to the window, opened it up, the window pushed outward, wow, snow came falling down in Taipei, no, no, at this time, Bhutan was, outside of my window, because, there was, that sacred blue wildebeest, staring at me, in Bhutan, the wildebeest was considered, the animal of the country, called, “Tajing”, the head like the horse, with the antler of the deer, hooves like the ox, tail like a donkey, like me, unrepresentative, of anything.

The air of the Himalayas inside the fish tank, made three cracks, came out, and kissed my cheeks goodbye, with the lips on me, instantly, I’d become, this, round snowman.

So, this, IS the metamorphosis of the mind, or that the individual missed the travels to that sacred place of Himalayas, that is why, s/he is, taken aback to that place where s/he felt most comfortable, most satisfied in.

Drought, a Poem

What sort of a legacy do you want to leave behind?  Translated…

Before the Lights Turned Off for Good I’d Climbed onto the Windowsills

Started, Measuring the Droughts of the World, with the Echoes of My Nightly Pacing

now, imagine this, as the human psyche, doesn’t look good, does it????  Of course N-O-T!

Until My Insomnia Made its Escape, from Macondo

Until that Distant Small Black Town, Started Raining the Black Rains

Until Those Suicidal Rain Drops’ Songs of Unreal Reality

Became the Paces You were Making, as You, Hurried on

Inside My Quilt, Where it’d Started Raining the Black Rains

Until the Water Flooded into My Heart, I Was Finally, Able to Sleep Deeply, Being Drowned

Contemplating How I’d Waken, Unwillingly, a Couple of Centuries Later

In that Never-Ending, Boundless Morn

Your Kiss Was Away from Me Now, with the Cigarette Like a Psychosis, Stuck on Me

Becoming, a Wasted Tenant Inside My Oral Cavities

So Full of Spirit, Like the Maggot from a Wound

It’d Spoken, in Such Extinct Language:

That the World’s Seasons of Rain is You, that You are, the Seasons of Rain for Me

Becoming Wide Awake is a Boring Thing

The Desert with the Droughts, Built Up its Mirages

Before I Was able to See it Clear, There were Still, Echoes of the Ice Age from My Tears

Bored to the Point, I’d Started, Counting Up the Cracks

Like, You Were, Hidden Behind the Symbols Like a Prophecy

it’s going to take a whole LOT more than just a little rain, to quench THis “thirst” all right!  Not my photo…

Several Times, I’d, Almost Severed Off My Own Head, Begging for the Downpour to Come

My Loneliness Danced that Offering Dance

It Seemed, Next to Impossible, to Get Rid of that Sense of Brokenness of March

But, I’d Become Willing, to Be, a Tearless Desert

And, Made up My Mind, Never to Return to Underneath Quilt, with the Black Rains Pouring Down on it

With My Dreams in the Swamps

Although Your Sense of Humor Still, Reflected, in the Black Dead Waters

rain  的圖片結果feels a WHOLE lot cooler instnatly, doesn’t it???  Photo from online…

The Corpses of the Driftwood, Still Noted the Histories of Your Sound Sleep

So, Just Lay Me Out, Under the Scorching Sun and Blind Me Then

Until the Sun Baked Those Words into Gold

Until Time Fell, Out of Carelessness, from the Equation of Eternity

Then, I will Be able to, Relay the News of My Death, with

Full Expectation, in Your Dampened Path

When the World Became, Devoid of Meaning

After Centuries of Unimportant Means

My Inhale & Exhale Would’ve, Proven Meaningless to This World

You May Then, be Able to Hear, Those Cries Unrelated to Me

And, as the Pouring Rain at My Funeral Helped the Growth of the Green Long Hair of My Plains

Perhaps, You May be Able, to Keep Track of It, with Your Nomadic Footprints

So, this, is on the meaning of one’s death to someone else, it’s about, the legacy you wish to leave behind, and, it’s something, that we should all, start thinking about, because, we will all, eventually, DIE (that, would be a FACT!), and, what sort of a legacy do you want to leave for your children, grandchildren, great grandchildren?

For Alice

On trying to fit in, with the environment, adapting to a life here, translated…

At my age, I can’t say, that I’d, lived long enough, but, I’d definitely, had had, a taste of everything.

Alice smoothed over the ruffles on the quilts, stuffed her head inside the quilts.  When she was younger, she and her parents had, folded up the quilts together, she’d loved, to get in the middle of it, playing; she’d loved that scent of the quilt, from getting some sun in, the quilt soaked up in the sun, the heat, it’d, seemed to, be able to, chase away, ALL her worries.

ladies who married over to Taiwan from foreign places, photo from online…

She’d married over to Taiwan for a little longer than three years now, after that alienated feeling of arriving to this new place, what remained, was the days as they passed her by.  It’s, as if, she’d, never aged one bit, but the time, it’d, frozen her stiff, in Taipei.  It’s an easy thing, falling in love with this city, there was, this slowed pace of life here.  On the weekends, she’d liked copying the older ladies who’d gone shopping at the local marketplaces, to get some flowers at the flower markets; she loved how she was, walking along, then, out hopped, a brand new shop, it’d, kept her in surprise.

illustration from the papers…人生走到這個年紀,不能說已經活得夠久,但也絕對什麼滋味都嘗過了。 圖PPAN

Alice is the kind of person that wouldn’t reach out to other people on her own, but she was, more than willing, AND able to, put her thoughts in others, be a very good listener, to someone who needed to, pour her heart out.  But, to those who knew her, she’d seemed, so open, so rash, so critical in mannerisms, like it was, a proof of her, working hard, to assimilate into living in Taipei.

Anyways, she’s the kind, that you wouldn’t realize to raise her brows, how she was, a bit, different from before, how she was, trying to cover herself up.  When you asked her where she came from, she’d still openly stated, but she’d normally, NOT told anybody unless she was, asked, “Yeah, I’m from China”.

Or maybe, this is, a label she will never be, rid of, she couldn’t say that she didn’t care, after all, the China mentioned by the papers, the T.V., the radio broadcasts, was, her home country.  But, who cares, about a nobody named Alice?  She didn’t have anybody to rely on, so, she’d worked hard, to hide her accent, learned a little Taiwanese, wanted to, live comfortably, in this city.

As she’d felt the world was against her, she had, no place she can hide, she can only, drive around the city of Taipei, toward the Palace Museum, the Sun Yatsen Memorial, the Freedom Square, along with the old-style mansion in Shihlin.  Anyways, those spots where the tourists from China loved going to.  She’d stood far off, watching a tour bus, felt, that she’d, abandoned her home country, and, her home country also, deserted her too.

from online…

She’d loved watching those tourists from China posing for the cameras happily, and, as she watched them, it’s, as if, her own loneliness, had found, an exit too.  It’s, those exaggerated poses, facial expressions, that are, so very, familiar to her!  She’d watched as she smiled, felt, but felt, that it’s, reasonable, that it’s a good thing, that the tourists were really enjoying themselves, feeling proud, in the photos, and, felt, that her own statures became, out of place somehow.

Alice is, ambiguous like this, if one day, you’d, bumped into her, please do tell her, “Don’t matter if you’re from China, Hong Kong, Taiwan, or your ABC, or from Singapore, you are, Alice, you fool!”

So, this, is how hard this woman tries to “blend in”, but she always felt, out of place, she’d worked really hard, to assimilate herself into the culture, and, from the outside, those who knew her felt that she’d, “blended in” with the environment in Taiwan, but, she still felt, somewhat, out of place………

The Night Train Home, a Poem

There’s that hint of, wanting to come home, and yet, there’s also, that I want to get away in this, translated…

Those Wandering Faces Looked Up at the Time Tables in the Train Stations

Those Tramping Shoes, Carried the Bodies, Entered

Into that Final Train

like this???  Picture from online…

At This Time, the Heart Can, Finally Rest

I am, the Moonlight, on the Return

Shivering, Against the Glass Windows of the Moving Trains

Peeping at the Shadows, Taking Over the Seats

How Were There, Two

Two Stiffened Bodies

I am the Light-Yellow Moonlight

Speaking to the Shadows, “I am a Classmate

From Your Middle School Years (the Instructor Spoke in a Combination of Taiwanese & Chinese, His Descent Was China, Can You Understand It?)

“The Big Guy Was Also, a Classmate of Your Middle School Class”

One of the Bodies, Was Me

the only one moving is you…photo from online…

“Meeting Someone I Knew on a Train to Elsewhere”,

That, Was How It’d, Felt, Seated at, the Two Seat in the Trains

“The Instructor Always Started the Class by Stating How He Originated from China, Can You All Understand Me?”

He’d Tried, His Hardest, to Speak in a Language that We Can Understand

As His Successor, You’d Worked, Even Harder

As the Train Passed Through the Cold Nights

The Moonlight & the Hatred All Turned into Frost

You are My Very Best Friend Back in Middle School

So, You’d, Shown Up, at the End of My Journey

You and I, Leaned Against Each Other

Shoulder to Shoulder, Becoming Wings

like this???night train animation 的圖片結果animation from online…

You and I, Returned with One Body, Back Home

The Frost-Bitten, Cracked Web on the Windows of the Trains

Became Like a Map We Traveled Together by

At the Terminal Station

Becoming that Stained Wet Moonlight onto the Seats

So, there’s, that strong sense of solitude, riding on this train toward home, and, maybe, the narrator knew what’s waiting for him back home, that, was why, he was, lingering on in the trains…