Category Archives: Poems

Haunted by the Twilight Train

Note: before you read this, I know people are not necessarily looking to be more depressed in the midst of the coronavirus pandemic: this is not necessarily a happy poem, so please read at your own risk. In a way, however, it can be interpreted as a poem of realization, of hope. The poem’s content is also nothing new: I have written about it a lot. I am just trying to reconnect to it in different ways, different poems.

The very overcoming of the world subdues the overcomer

to a core of existence that, with a serious face, resolves only in a resolute passion to a pursuit of being,

who only lives a fight against the inevitable and who builds a futile shelter of flesh and bones against a deluge of suffering, rushing and crashing endlessly.

They close their eyes and live in a dream of carefree indulgences in time and reputation,

a lost place, of dissonant cries and screeches of being found, of finding, and of knowing. Angels appear as devils, and devils wear halos.

Mortality is a train to midnight, which plows through effortlessly on invisible, sometimes misty tracks; it has no friction, but all its subjects, passengers.

Yet… in a faraway land… across seas and planets… there was one who believed, despite it all…

Small Talk

For what I know,


They themselves never failed to fathom

Whatever mist that may lie in their path,

And strange color of sky and wind,


But questionable circumlocution

Does their talk quite a shrink

That they their thinking can never mend;


The land so massive; beauty encompasses;

May become born to much more small



What they can never fathom is

How to fail to understand


Because the addition of that

Fulfills the remaining demand.


What spirits they are that deals with things

They cannot hear, see, feel, understand

And capture them into small glass jars of formaldehyde,

X-raying, dissecting, studying, observing;


They change them

They change love into roses,

Money into sweat,

They convert them into decimals, fractions, formulas…

And yet, they die without knowledge;


They tried to capture the galaxies

Into the palm of their hand


And the galaxies end the mission.


During the darkest of storms, its almost anticipated to influence some sort of dark impression, but rarely and often, the heavy clouds aren’t able to cover the sky and the glorious orange glow of the evening sun comes through boldly with the patience that it can only be. And then, there’d admittedly be a little rain, who’s droplets would only refract a perspective no less greater than the glorious sky. Flowers, trees, any shrubbery, who stuck onto their mother earth, would glow with the melancholy hue of orange, blended in with their own wonder. Not all these things were visible on the shadowed side of the things which served perhaps to recycle the focus back to its parent universe.

All this was learned to expect that the good night would arrive shortly, but the heavenly gesture of a wave-like whelm lingered on the silent masterpiece and in a timeless fashion, seem to never diminish, heralding the rights to accustom the mind to the present.

But when the sight is gone, muscles weary, and the beat is stopped, all that really happens is the vacuum of a cycle whose will to continue ponders on with security.

And maybe what life is is an obscurity;a finite infinity.

Light and Darkness

A lamp burns in my room

Its golden influence persuades the color of

the white wall. The curtain melts the beams

across it’s body, which spreads ever so slightly

behind the lamp.


I tremble, but I accept my fate.

The smooth, reflective surface on the solitary bulb

changes my direction.

They point where to follow, but I look

and I do not see

Space Junk

Life is a present that is given

And a reality that is forgiven,

For all that is littered understand


The inanimate may live in opposition

Their ways appease the sense

Unless inverted will they know


As long as the secret is kept

The door shall remain closed

To whatever inanimate lies beyond dreams


And whatever order that is left

Be forgotten in our sleep

The Autumn Air

As the day glows brighter, I can’t help but notice the new style of sunlight that had landed on the leaves of our neighbour’s tree. The leaves, extracting the color of the sun, patiently sway in the breeze and the tree itself stands humbly in satisfaction. There is an aroma of sweet earth that wanders around the neighbourhood, making way for a richer radiance in which Autumn prides itself on in the dawn of winter, when it disappears to paint a new picture of blue and white. It carries news of thanksgiving dinner,Halloween thrill, but only in the last glimpses of its tail can you sense a deep longing. A nostalgic bitterness of truth that we now can only experience the coming seasons and a deep desire for childhood purity. The temperature is cooled, but the colorful leaves, ever-swaying on my neighbour’s tree reminds me of the tranquil security when my mother first took me to kindergarten almost a decade ago. Hand in hand, we walked along the never ending trails of fallen leaves to the gateway of my current present, where I am but an observer of space and it’s totality.

It’s Just a Hop

It’s just a hop.

A gentle bubbling sound with a yellow-green hue.

It floats across, unaffected.


Traveling through the valleys, through the orchards, even the oceans…

Soon, all is covered with the sweet nectar of it


It was a peculiar sight, and it tasted a little sweet.

Absorbed by the nectar, it’s all a little sweet,

But just a little.


Misunderstood, it seems to be nothing; unreactive.

But the more it is misunderstood, the more it demands to be seen.


It’s just a hop.

A little oscillation.

It floats across, unaffected.

The Leader

High above the tree tops

Was an enormous mass of light.

It shone and smiled at the face of all it’s neighbours

and brought warmth into their hearts.

It loved seeing the children of all the living things in it’s neighbourhood

and it patiently watched them grow leaves and sprout roots.

It saw the smallest of the small grow to be giants

and the weakest of the weak grow to be strongest.

It was a tough job to maintain the neighborhood, because

everything seemed to revolve around it.

The light saw hatred and sorrow, death and disease,

but worst of all,it saw a new Earth.

It would love to help,but slowly it fades

into darkness.

The influence  was too strong, and the probability was too low.

The only chance of survival was given by all that was under and around it,

and taken away.

It cursed the mind and disappeared to it’s defeat.

Leaving the Great and the Greatest to disintegrate,

and the Bold and the Boldest to follow

it’s negative energy.

It must be better to die off in utter defeat.