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Adele Sep 2018
I submerged myself from the restfulness of the sea
the singing echo of bubbles
and marine lives waved at me
the time just stopped
it was a portal to a different world

watch yourself float and savour the placidity
I then asked myself
'is this what really is home to me?'
Adele Aug 2018
I see the beauty in a palm-
sized tomatoes growing afloat in Inle Lake
the one-legged fisherman
silhouetted just like his perilous
wooden boat against the slow setting
sun. I hear thin echoes
of beauty
hundred years
of ruins, temples, stupas standing
with pride, the culture of longyi, worn
with delight

I took the train that goes
on a loop
saw  buildings, the market, the houses,  plantations
a city  a country covered
by a dark cloud that has yet to
acknowledge a genocide
The darkness rise with cries

‘mingalaba’ a Burmese
lady with a white cream on her face which is made from ground bark called ‘thanaka’ comes to sit by the Dyamayanggi Temple
the scorching sun-filled flakes the paste
a basket full of snack, she offers
with a smile

The joy in chasing sunset in the land of thousand pagodas. A mystical climb a striking landscape. I breathe,
feel and wish to stay
longer. Soaked in the twilight of the moment. In a fleeting time of closing my eyes, I drown with the colours of the golden sky.
Adele Jun 2018
1) I scratched your disc jockey
And left a note that I was sorry
Forgive me for your taste in music
Sounds a little bit dreary


2) Last night, while I was driving your car
I fell off a cliff!
It sure was damage, but I am still alive
Thank you for having me use it


3) The hearth needed more wood
And I cannot find one
Instead, I burned your favourite book
Sitting on the table
Forgive me, I did not like Dostoyevsky

4) I have eaten
The strawberries from the countertop
And which you were probably
Saving for your morning smoothie
Forgive me they were delicious and fresh
a little parody and post-modernism won't hurt... I guess lol
Adele Jun 2018
‘April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain...’

The chilly wind entered the dark room,
lamp post flickered outside
as he closed the window,
a gush made the feathered pen tumble as the ink splattered on his white crumpled paper

she opened her eyes and said, ‘Go to sleep...’ but he kept writing and she dozed off

the remnants of his past became an ash...

He found a title ‘The Burial of The Dead’

the candle was blown by the wind, he just stared at the dark sky, the waves from the coast was angry and his head needed the fragments to come altogether
his heart, knocking on silence, crying
it’s official! TS Eliot’s The Waste Land is now my favourite piece of all time!
Adele Jun 2018
I do not hold an astrolabe
nor a compass
but the magnetic force
calculated the point of latitude
that pivoted my ship
around the axis
of your destination
Adele Jun 2018
Roses aren’t always red
violets aren’t exactly blue
the society we live in,

cannot seek the truth.

happiness could be fragile
compassion oppressed to be a weakness
until kindness is no longer sublime

dominance risen
and we live by the rules
we’re trying to find truth,

but what is truth exactly?
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