Category: Literature

* Cemetery *

I imagined, 
With sincerity,
Decomposing quietly under the fine-grained slate.

On which
The letters
That spell melodiously you indelible name were carved with delicacy.

Or maybe
You prefer 
Simply the delightful silence of an aging pine tree;

Remember
Vividly 
The one which charmingly witnessed our memorable first treat.

Your withdraw,
However,
Compels me to fill the empty space you left with my flimsy breath.

Somehow if you 
Miss me,
Find me in that graveyard we know near which Cohen was laid carefully.

Journal Entry #2

I somehow have this unease sentiment of not being able to put my feelings of the past few months into words (at the very moment they occurred) as I went through the emotional turmoil. In a sense they became this monolith of sadness and I failed to register the delicate aspects of all the sorrow that possessed me at the time. Failing to solidify and purify the presence of the lowest point of my life. In terms of literature.

And it brings me back to my obsession of capturing the moments, the detailed yet miscellaneous parts of a living life. 

Instead of creating images or movements, poetry and prose, much like photography, provide me with a sense of recording what occurs in that specific fleeting space-time, a rather confessional form that is, documenting not just the events, but the reflection of it. In a much precise and thorough manner, the mental work creates a documentation of all the fragile elements once existed, and that to me, is an epitaph.

I’m constantly mourning the past; so nostalgic and melancholic, that it seems I’m pessimistic about the future and fixate on the wonderful past I’ve ever experienced. But deep down in my yearning heart I found, is my tremendous adoration of life in the current moment, that by looking at the entirety of our immense life experience, I realized that every single moment (those which are happening or happened), even the most heart-breaking ones, deserve to be preserved by virtue of truthfulness and beauty. Ukiyo, the floating world as it is poetically called in Japanese, offers us this image of world being intangible and impermanent, and I truly believe it captures the essence of the existence, and remind us that all, every slice of time, are/is valuable.

We are not omnipresent; I couldn’t experience that moisture on my lips ever again, so I write about it. Being honest to all the thrilling experiences and thoughts I ever had, I choose to turn them into something, and mindfully telling myself that at this moment, no matter how painful it is, it’s a treasure to the completion of my life story.

Because I have no choice, I love them, I love all the moments I ever had. 

* Physics *

It’s hard to believe in physics,
Sometimes more so
Than to believe in god,

In that
Ninety-nine point nine nine nine nine
Percent of the atom consists of 

Empty space;
That we are the
Empty space;

Yet the failing love
Tightened my chest
As if the air inhaled,

Is made of solid stone,
Sound and vivid
Heart-sinking

* Task Machine *

Between trembling and milking and bonding,
In the interval of surface and current and attention,
Impulse slips through the boundary of cognition while ambiguity dips below the technicality.

As hollow permeates the in-between of notion and motion,
We wander through the chamber of floating perception,

Void vomits emotion.
Uncertainty proliferates intuition.
Discomfort permits gratifying tension.

We are playing
In this task machine.

* Rosy Heart *


“I want you to put your nose here,
in all the fur;
you can make liquid.”
You said.
And you brush your hair,
as if the sensation links us in a metaphysical form.
Here,
at which I look, the almost hidden;
reveals the desire, the beauty, the holistic imagination,
the symbolic dreamy garden, the self-love, the confidence, the adventure, the complexity.
All these,
belong to you;
a completion, a human, I see you.
Rosy Heart.