to this world
my physical existence
connects me mentally
in a land of made belief
please observe
I need to be respected
in such a time
I am no foreigner
to this world my physical existence connects me mentally in a land of made belief please observe I need to be respected in such a time
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my heart walks the pavement
searching my cabin where I find peace among birds and bees An aged suitcase, its leather straps, hold together history. The yellow, crinkled disclose the life stories of once a sojourner who finally set roots in this land; a land where he struggled to be accepted; a land where he found success; a land where he had just as much right to build his home to live and die.this is It
the sky is no longer bright no shadow, no light the sun is covered by cloud like after a volcano erupts do you see any birds flight water is no longer pure dust covers every where soil becomes futile does your hearts tickle when you see the ruins the radiant nature is destroyed just because you called for It a contrived architect of art
brings on a prison with slaves of mental blocks the magical fountain pen rains down words filling papers enlivens the statue of muse again I sit by the desk
but my mind is in the desert of absent-spirited status wandering under stars the empty expression holds back insptiration each thread of which is plucked like weeds in desert |
AuthorI started late to become a writer, after I graduated from the University of Auckland at the age of 57. It all began when one of my articles was first published in Muse, a magazine in Hong Kong. I just finished my first novel Tree which is about Chinese immigrants here in New Zealand. Being bipolar it hasn't been easy but I'm proud to have broken the vicious cycle and begin to enjoy life. I'm glad to have survived to this age and be able to live a most fulfilling life. Categories |