The long summer nights are cold, my love,
The long summer nights are cold.
The yellow sun dips behind the tall trees, my love,
It dips and sinks low beyond the horizon.
Where are you my love?
Where are you?
You lost your chance of freedom, my love,
Yes, my love, you lost your chance to live free.
I know where you are, my love,
I know where.
I can't come there, my love,
I can't come there.
Your courage failed, my love,
You failed and failed me.
Yet, now that you are lost to me, my love,
I am free, free to be me.
Free to travel
The worldwide sea.
Ah, it could have been you and me, past love,
But now it is just me
Utterly, perfectly free.
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 11:22 AM UTC
Pudong Airport to Shanghai. Yes. Good. Push in.
Start go....go...go! 150kms, 200kms, 300kms, FOUR ONE FIVE KMS.
High above the highways I think
Today the driver is drunk.
Today is the day that I die.
Quickly I take a cellphone pic
And send my last moment to my mother.
I am shaking, this is so fast
What flashes in front becomes the past.
Shanghai, we're here.
I push myself out of the carriage
Through the crowds on the elevators
I run to the Yangtze River
I breathe in the over-polluted air.
Thank you.
Now I am safe.
I put on my mask
And walked to my heated apartment.
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 10:51 AM UTC
The lake is cold
It belonged to the Emperor.
It has turned into ice
Ducks walk on it.
People on the bridge above
Throw food down for them.
Skaters skate in circles
On the huge huge lake.
The sun sets
The lake glows
Like thousands of stars
All gold.
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 10:35 AM UTC
Traffic in Beiing
Is horrific.
Hoot, bang, smash.
Crash. Glass.
See what I mean.
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 10:25 AM UTC
He took her heart and soul
And clasped her to him nightly.
He stroked her curly long hair
And said, "I love you, I kiss you,
I hold you and send you 51 Red Roses."
He sent her her favourite poem
With a message from Matthew Arnold.
He taught her about time and direction and
Most of all about love, the perfect love
The love of 51 Red Roses.
Then came the day he went blind
And could not see
The 51 Red Roses, nor her
Nor their dreams, nor their love
Nor their kisses.
Blind he remained
In a chain of oppression
Blind as a mole.
Blind. Cruel. Unkind.
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 10:23 AM UTC