I speak two languages
English and Mandarin
I have known them for years
they are my friends
they are my enemies

Without the right words
I cannot understand
the language of art
of poetry, of writing
of what it is to be human

When the right words come
it slips subtlety across my lips
Boreas, the Greek god of the cold north wind
descends upon the staged mythological scene
with violent purpose; all is a torrent of charged masculine rage.

Such sense of impending danger
describing a force beyond human
yet carrying a distinctly human emotion
Rage and violent anger
Words show me what I cannot see

Beyond the brush strokes
Beyond the composition and form
I hear words that describe
that philosophizes and enlightens
the mind, soul, and body

There's a serenity to rain
it takes me back to a different time
when rain was just rain
no deep underlying meaning for it

I walk along the streets of the city
wait by the fountain full of big fish
and my mom holds the umbrella
as we walk side by side

Just me and her
in a land far away from here
I ask her questions, curious
I don't always understand her answers

It's funny how a little raindrop
can hold so many memories
Or perhaps, rain is just rain
And it's us that never forgets, holding on far too long.

Innocence and purity
The cream-colored concoction of vanilla
Love and affection
The saccharine sentimental pink of strawberry
Sophistication and maturity
The beautiful, breath-taking silky brown of chocolate
Passion and lust
The fiery fervent flame of cherry
Happiness and joy
The dazzling yellow of lemon like a ray of sunshine

The various flavors of the human life
Like those of a birthday cake
Each piece made of those very same flavors
But ultimately different from any other

Bold baker who combines creamy concoctions to savor
The harmonious rays radiating from sunlight’s daily greeting
Parallel your yearning for vibrancy and unity
Strawberry, chocolate, vanilla flavors occupy your platter
While the sun’s polychrome glow birthed from its own palette

I close my eyes, to dream
images come to mind
ideas spring forward
a brave new world is made

To describe such a thing
colors beyond two dimensions
a feeling words cannot fathom
languages undiscovered

But then the dark plot unveils
As always it comes to us
the dark circles us all
ourselves revealed

Escaptism is all
but a futile attempt
who we want to be
who we are now

The gap between
the jump we must make
not impossible to try
for we dare to jump

Over and over and over
we fall short of it
until we begin to accept
that it is not meant to be

Satisfaction unachievable
who we want to be
who we are not
who we instead become

But are we happy?