that I cannot speak.
Kept my mouth shut
as told in the back room
where I starting feeling suffocated.
I walked up the path home
after the sweet poetry gathering.
Placid air coupled with
placid yellow street lamp.
They exist insignificantly
just like me.
Where does the zephyr come from?
Why do the stars shine for?
Where am I heading to?
My friend told me
you're too sweet and idealistic.
but he didn't not tell me the truism--
an idealist is doomed to be disillusioned.
Staring out the sea
where is my perfect life?
Holding myself tight
where is my perfect lover?
Feeling so choked,
where is my voice?
Feeling so puny,
where is me?
Tell me, how could I travel back in time
to collect my lost voice on
last Tuesday night?
(Polly Ho @28/4/2008)
