Behind the hoods of skin and fleshy tears, 

hid towers of thickened acoustic, 

of rivers of thinning guitar strings. 

The graces of whispers coat the 

layers of the woodland.

Accompanied by eerie dances of harmony, 

planted behind curtains of dusk,

we witness the seedling of 

silence. 

It was its own being 

that hid in creaks and crevices

beyond in a space where I could not wander, 

but for second,

I was wrapped within. 

Their friendly presence 

Run Shivers down your spine

Their lanky, guiding hands

Gently lay against your back

Guiding you through the night

Peacefully in flight with you through the azure

     You may sleep now,

     Rest in Peace

          You may sleep now,

          Rest in Peace.

The cedar hides the mountains. Through the frosty tundra; Blank as a white canvas, so bare. 

The trail guides me up to the breathing sky. 

The aromatic cedar trees wonder in the breeze. The wild wind calls the mountains. The peak whispers silently to me. The orange sun falling down, A mist of light across the horizon. 

Walking to the fire ahead; Crackling in the moonlight. Stars scattered above throughout, 

The flowing light becomes waves in a sea.

It was at night, perhaps.

On the street I dallied,

watching other folks hurry.

Was this unintentional? Was it by design?

I am but a gust of wind then.

Was it fog?

I could no longer see my way.

I could no longer rush headlong into your arms.

I was walking on the muddy bank.

I didn't talk; they didn't share why they came here.

I saw a victorious lion stuck in self-persuasion.

I saw a drowning cat urging himself not to call for help.

I saw a peacock disregarding his beauty.

I saw a sheep,

using her aggressive purity

to take away its everything 

which should have belonged to her

I saw you, stepping on a boat, float into the stars I could not see.

So,

farewell to you, 

good-bye to you.

I hoped in my dream tonight

there would be a star shining still,

instead of you.

I walk on the moss-laden steps.

The streetlights push me on.

Where will I be tonight?

The dead leaves overhead ask me what season it is.

Stunned, I say Spring.

My wind winds around every cluster of branches in Shanghai.

The cherry blossoms,

the leaves gone.

So,

should I say  Fall?

It was one of those busy days

when spring meets summer.

We stood underneath pacific trees

and felt peaceful, huddled together,

while shadows sewed a web over the sun’s glare 

Now and then there was a breeze 

that drove away the smell of dried mud in the stagnant air.

We quickly savored the last bit of freshness 

the living air brought.

Then the shadows stopped swaying 

and the tranquil trees froze.

All we heard was the counselor saying 

‘look at that primrose!’ 

Once he glanced at a tree we were under:

‘This tree’, he pointed, ‘and that one there, shares something  

with each other.’

We pondered and wondered 

and glanced and blundered,

fighting about what they shared together.

While the counselor in his little folding chair,

had an arrogant smile on his face that seemed so unfair. 

Because he and the trees were the only ones who knew;

the trees won’t tell, and he won’t too. 

For what did they have in common, 

except that they both grew; 

they both respire,

they both are trees? 

When asked, he shook his head: 

‘No, no, it has nothing to do with their leaves.’

The breeze revived and the trees seemed to quiver 

with triumphant laughter 

in their mountaineous heights.

And the counsellor whispered: epiphytes! 

The class became more blundered, 

and murmurs spread through:

‘What is it? Like a parasite?’

The trees laughed again, and the counsellor did too.

He shook his head

‘No, no, no— 

They wrap themselves around tree trunks 

and are not tethered to the ground 

Oh nutrients? They snatch it from the trees 

like a free hotel room service!’

He chuckled again

at this old joke that he told to students 

who came every round. 

I didn’t think it was funny, but wondered myself:

‘How do the trees benefit from them, do they get any help?’

I seem to have wondered aloud,

for the answer was no.

And everyone was watching me

because of this thing that I told;

that ruined the atmosphere 

of the counsellor’s joke.

They were thinking of more outrageous similes…

‘A tenant that doesn’t pay rent!’

‘Instagram influencers!’

‘Scions of rich descent!’

Turns out trees don’t live in symbiosis, 

but barely survive.  

Turns out there was conflict in their silence 

for the trees weren’t just, 

nor were the epiphytes 

and nor were us. 

If we had to pick out every flaw that nature holds 

there would be millions, millions, and millions more 

Conflict survives from the first clash of rocks 

that eventually formed the earth, and its crust.

Conflict still survives to this day 

while I listen to the counsellor say

how epiphytes held the trees close by

then sucked their nutrients, and with it, life.

I pity the parents who brought us up,

gave us their nutrients 

while we hugged them tight—Why? 

Did we just think, in our infant minds,

that we would die without them, and so we lied? 

One philosopher proposed that we were born evil:

I sometimes agree, when I think of those epiphytes. 

Gates closed

Streets empty

Where went the people

That always come and go

Spreading jollification all around

Late night

Screen lighted

Watching the numbers change

Hoping they are only numbers

School starts

Empty classrooms

I see my classmates

Through a glass-like screen

When did my teachers become network anchors?

At least now I have excuses for watching TV at school time

The image of the masked faces in protection suits lingers in my mind

“Heroes in harm’s way,” they are called

They are our saviors

But who will be theirs?

I close my eyes and pray

That they aren’t in shortage of angels in heaven

Because we need some on earth

Especially in such a circumstance

Outside the borders

Rumors spread like wild fire

Causing trouble capriciously

Spearheads are pointed towards us

Poking harshly

Leaving more blood stains on the white carpet

Creating wounds that will leave scars

Borders closed

Doors shut in our faces

“Virus carriers

You’re not welcomed anymore.”

They boycotted our cuisine

Splashed dirty water on an innocent beer company

For they’re “allies” with the virus

Funny thing is

They never blamed the virus

Innocent people were beaten up

For the color of their skins

Wait, I thought we have passed that

Isn’t it the twenty-first century?

Where went the world we long for?

A place filled with warmth and love?

It was pushed away by acts of ignorance and isolation

The virus doesn’t discriminate

Unlike the people

Why are we antagonized

For a virus that caused fewer causalities than flu?

How can antagonism solve the problem?

If not doing the opposite

The virus can only be defeated with caution and rationality

Not through false accusations or pointing fingers

The tactics we’ve conducted are effective

The best we can is done

There is now one thing to keep in mind:

Fear not the virus

But the ignorance

The sky is Californian blue

Interspersed with little clusters of clouds

Underneath is the green meadow

As lively as ever

Sitting at the window

I gaze at this familiarity

Alas, how I long for a walk in the park

Without the confinement of a mask

When will that day arrive?

If spring is here

Then winter is soon to leave, right?

The piano sits in the foyer

Where it always waits

Under a cloak of dust

But patiently unchanged

Today it compels me

A familiar call

The same pull that drew me in

So long ago

I perch on the worn leather 

Stiff from temporary unuse

Weathered from habitual practice

Unsure if I am still welcome

My fingers hover over the keys

Hesitantly they rest

Weakly I press but

The sound is too faint

Hastily I begin to play

Stumbling over my fingers

Wincing at discordant notes

Have we grown too far apart

Forgetting fickle patterns

But it comes back, it never truly left

Muscle-memory overtakes

My initial apprehension

Losing lingering doubts

Finding ease in the familiar 

I finally relax

A simple dialogue

Like a wave it comes back

A masterful sequence

Chords join harmoniously

As I connect with my friend

A blissful reunion

With an old companion

Steady pace.
I run.
Exchange words.
Then I run.
Panting slightly,
I cross the marking line.
Three more laps.
I run.
I tell myself that I will rest
Half way.
I lie!
I run.
One more lap,
I heave 
A heavy breath.
No!
I run.
As I reach the 
End. 
I sprint.
I ran.

I am from a townhouse on calvert street
Where bees surround the wildflowers and an avalanche of mint,
Where worndown bikes are strewn on the porch
And you can smell the stew made of beets and radishes
And love slowcooks on the stove.

I am from warm hugs and my grandmother's perfume,
Endless scarves wrapped around my shoulders and 
Overflowing the closets.

I am from fluffy mashed potatoes, from cool salad with fresh squeezed lemon,
From raw garlic burning my tongue.
I am from my brother's peppering freckles. I could trace constellations on his nose.
And my mother's eyes always caught up in the sun,
Her eyes are a storm on the sea.

I am from sun soaked skin and raspberries, red currants
In green cardboard, the whirling blender and sea foam froth smoothies.

I am from libraries, fingers running alongside the spines.
I am the quiet comfort of a book,
From swash buckling adventures, 
From a world filled with footnotes,
From mysteries where you feel shivers as the detective works out the clues,
From flipping the pages in books too fast, just begging for a paper cut.

I am from the city, coffee shops and inky eyes and a practiced scowl,
From bright lights and calling a taxi and newspaper headlines. 

I am from my home, my family, my friends,
A sense of belonging.
From my hope, my faith,
And my freedom-wrenched heart that will never forget the meaning of love.

When I look into the mirror
All I see are my sad eyes 
Smudged fog on my reflection
From all the times I cried.

I feel low, all-time low
Run from all these ghosts
My heart falls too hard, fell apart.

Yeah, I got those... teenage blues

When I look in the mirror
All you see is my smile.
My hand reaches out, cry for help,
But you only notice a wave ‘hi.'