Words I once thought the papers couldn’t carry,
Now reside in the second star to the right
Where time’s swift currents
Flow neither forward nor backward—
Arresto Momentum!
Passers-by have all passed by
Love loses all its self-sabotaging definitions,
Suddenly, life doesn’t feel real at all
And all-so real at the same time.
Perhaps this is how the birds feel
In their first flight—
Feathers
For the first time so weightless
Blending with the wind
Soaring
Above the real-unreal.
What is life if not a stack of
Countless resurrections—
Piled up high
Only a few feet away from
The first cloud in a summer sky;
Closest to earth
Farthest from heavens.
What is life if not a
Lifelong mission of
Straddling between
Being and Un-being,
Tracing the way back home
From seasonal detours—
For it takes a heart as vast as the sky itself
To love the sky in all its forms,
To love life with all its repetitions.
Oh, how far we've come
searching for faith in a world on fire.
Faith in our notions of our nations
propaganda since the age of maps—
divide and rule.
Rigid stripes to fuel
Territorial bloodsheds, seeping into the
same dark earth.
I do not know how deep into earth
do they claim the land—
how deep into earth
can one mark with blood
the rigid territorial margins?
Soon, a firebird will arise from the ashes
with history’s ugly marks imprinted on its dashing wings.
The fire would cease,
centuries after the ardent pleas of commoners.
The dead will fossilise.
The living will tread on this thin layer of
fire and ice—
driven by our notions of nations
Feeing safe inside our horizontal borders.
