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Starry Aug 20
West of China
The moon shines bright
As a pearl
Only to be swallowed up my a
Demonic Chinese dragon
Plunging turkestan
Into darkness
As a white dove flies by
Did you buy the air for money, perhaps?
Or your lungs by labour?
Why is it that you feel entitled to be privileged to live, yet you
Deem for me no worth of life?

Was it not the same God that gave you the air and the lungs to breathe it by?
Then why do you consider the ground you tread deserving of my blood sacrifice?

Why is it that you feel entitled
To live,
While me,
To die?

In God's realm there is no majority nor minority,
Only that there is the one who hoarded pleasures,
And the one who was robbed of it.
And one day,
One day,
You will answer for why you thought the lungs and air
You and I got for the same price
Was only worthy of yourself.
Again, the plight of the Uighur, Rohingya, Syria, Yemen and Palestine etc, does not cease in torture. (Also, I am back from a half-year long writer's block, guess I lost the inspiration and passion, and eventually interest).
claire Jul 22
i am thirteen years old and flowers bloom. there’s no limit to my horizon
but my little dome, a terrible, oppressive thing.
there’s something about the way the air feels—cloudy,
unclear, like polluted water, bordering on stifling.
last year i was scared, maybe, and this year i am too,
but something gnaws at the ghost of last year and
things are newer now; how is my life? good, thanks for asking—

lotuses are of kind silence. i am thirteen and i visited china
during the lotus blooms, watched the buds grow into blossoms
as i walked on the winding lake bridges. and everyone wore dresses
and i thought it was weird that their normal was our formal;
the dome shatters when the sky is another sky.
my mom’s company fell into chaos on her vacation,
her seat shakes with the vigor of two average earthquakes;
average because the only one that could ever hurt her
she experienced a half a country away from the epicenter in 2008.

stop—wait—be kind to me, please. my hands never shook
before i turned thirteen, the pre-lotus waters slithered about my pulse—
they were beckoning, told me china wanted me there,
i’d always hold a home there, that i’d be back there soon enough,
that if so desired i could prosper there in ways unthinkable
to a me that stayed in america, if i just go there.

sweet, sweet, little rain, xiaoyu, that was me and only me,
i’ve only heard little rain in china,
even the full-bloom lotus lakes called me little rain.
i was little rain more than i was claire—i am thirteen and i am little rain,
the lotuses told me i wasn’t home in the dome; the misty air—
it clogged my nose, i couldn’t breathe the leftovers,
sweet little rain—i only loved her when she didn’t connect me to my shaking hands.
i am thirteen now, ask me how my life is; alright, and you?
AsianTapWater May 28
I’m sorry.

I’m sorry.

Please forgive me.
Or at least, pretend to.
I know you really won’t.

They’re dead.
They’re all dead.
And it’s all my fault.

Why didn’t I stop him?

Why couldn’t I save them?

You hate me, don’t you?
Surely you do.
He made me a murderer.
We slaughtered your men.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry.

Please pretend you forgive me.
Please pretend you still love me.

I’m sorry, dear brother.

I love you too.
Sort of a response/sequel to my China poem. This one is from Japan. Again, invasion of Manchuria.
AsianTapWater May 28
2500 years ago,
In a forest far from home,
I found you, aru.
A tiny child, surrounded by towering green bamboo.

I helped you,
I raised you,
Even though you lived far away.
Two brothers
In two countries.

2000 years later,
And you invade my land.
My men are dying,
But I can't do anything.

You smile
As you watch us suffering before you.
You cheer
As you watch the crimson puddles become a lake.

What happened, aru?
What happened to that child?
What happened to us?
Are you even my brother, aru?

You were kind.
You were a good man.
You cared about me.

What happened, aru?

What caused this rage?
What have my men done
To deserve this punishment?

Come back, aru.
Save yourself from this demon.
This isn’t you,
I know it isn’t.

Please, aru,
Don’t do this.

You can **** all my men,
But, please,
Spare me.

I still love you, aru.
A poem about China from Hetalia: Axis Powers. The slaughter mentioned is the invasion of Manchuria during WW2.

I wanted something really sad so have China being killed by his brother.
Ylzm Apr 2
Small nations? Who cares!
Unless you're Israel. Who else?

Why spy and steal
Just slam the steel
Gift in hand, suggests
Your daughter - or son - or else?

Small nations
petty thieves
spy, steal from
small nations.

Big Boys see and laugh
All of mine is yours
If you worship us
You'll be one of us.

But Big Boy wannabe
China, will never be;
Splurged fake money by the ton
But none worships Dragon's son.
Toxic yeti Mar 2
On a remote
Part of the Great Wall
There are sad spirits
Looking for justice
And many demons
Amongst these spirits
Is one of a
Woman who cried colourred ink
Instead of tears
Had an ear shattering scream
Which will **** you.
Who was possessed
And died from
The possession.
Toxic yeti Feb 21
The chief concubine
Enters the room
Flowing gowns
Beautiful colourful
I mistake her for
A butterfly
Though with
A ***** look I
Know that I shouldn’t
Mess with her.
She is fierce.
Toxic yeti Feb 3
The strang thing
This morning I was happy
But I had the sickness.
You woke up
Knowing that I was with
You kiss me
And walk out.
I scream for you to come back
But you were gone.
In a few hours
You came drunk
And sad
You were exhiled
From the temple
Though angry you were not
Instead you kissed me
And sad that i loved me
You then kissed my nether regions
As we made love
A love that wasn’t forbidden
Never more.
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