He hit that first note
that note set her world free
When she fell in love with his sadness
he left to an unknown satellite

Can the best music letters are the ones
written in joys not in tears,
that smear the ink so he played the keys
She started writing:
We are all thought about you, yesterday
Days before that too, with each daily practice
To every moment of concert in live, We think of you
in silence.

She often speaks out your name,
A music warrior, a British Chinese pianist,
A missing soul, Now
all we have is memories.
Your vivid picture in a frame.
And your memory is her keepsake…

The tea of the kitchen were rich with colour and the smell of fruit.
The leave roots broke under the wave of the flute,
which slowly rotted;
the crops withered in the fields.
When winter can’t resist a gourmet fruit fantasy
Are you ready to wait for me,
at the corner of a seasonal banquet?

I.

“Victor, would you like to meet at room zoom?
Emily called, she knew he wasn't keen to boom

A little bit to the blue pole, a little bit under the red flag; 

Everyone has ideas, who is ready to share?
Zoom in.  Zoom out.
How many truly care?

II.

Victor, once more we've entered the room zoom

A place we've been to before
the questions remain, simple and plain
Is that a dangling mate?
Is this the real victor?

A choice is a choice, one for everyone
Sum up the numbers, leaving us numb

Is the rhetoric speech, exhausted, at last?
Would the world -all people- wait for exciting news?

It’s all about the covid war, though not the flu
Zoom in. Zoom out. In the end,

III.

The world turned and the pathway ended
Do you still believe we all lose?
Two empty trees shaded like a pair of poles

Emily whispered to herself: “the warmth of the sun in the right.
Divided by a flimsy fence, all that's left is in the cold.
Victor, would you like to meet at room zoom?”

US troops zoomed by leaving a stench of smoke.
The birds however continued their solo chanting.


Note: A legal challenges in the wake of the 3 November vote to contest ballot counts.

Preface:
Was it all took a speech?
Then there were the threats, then there were the deaths.
…
Was it all due to S. P memorial?
14 day ago…


“Drop drop’ red rain sliding, 
In the back street during his morning walk.
Father Ian paced steadily, it was a grey morning,
early November.

Imagined dialogues
Occur in mind, 
a rendezvous with himself 
Hauled suddenly from solitude,

'How now,' Father Ian addressed the empty hall
Counting there, 9 times knives 
Attacked marks, smelling of burning anger.
This was how the school hides indiscriminate ******.

“Fight fight?”  against blue pallor,
Of hell, and not the fiery part.  

'Knives knives,' Father Ian mocked with an Atlas shrug,
'Don't I warn you to stop those ridiculous fables.
In silence, they come alive,
Of dusted harps or gnawing fear:  Simply tells

'What mission?', questioned from Father Ian, 
“Mind as the host, what just epilogue 
Would these too hollow to be chased?’
What flawed earth-flesh could cause this saddened pass?

'There sits no higher court
Than man's transparent soul’.

Attack, Attack, shocked, Father Ian cried
'Can‘t they run and hide, to get inside
Like a last storm-crossed leaf?  Best ghost swore to the priest:
Why again knives, carried at Paris and Nice?

How do we define a peace land?
And where is the home, craving to return?
Listen, what did the birds and trees say?

The true pleasures lie beneath the mountain
A single bound will take us there
It is our first homeland where we were born free.

Seagull migrates well,
Pine tree wouldn't move
Look, they reunion in one home garden

They imagine that all their 
Woes, hurts and indignities
Would not exist
in their imagined homeland.

Where we learnt justice at our mother's knee
return is easy, we just have to dare
The true pleasures lie beneath the mountain

In their minds, homeland
is in stasis.
The life they left is lingering
waiting for them to return.

I.

All atremble
Listen to each falling log
The harpist trills string vibration 

Of the winds and leaves
Of a gown unlike all others
Sing, a song of autumn.

Melodic vase dripping
It’s time to reunion
departure or Farewell?

Vivid brightness against sorrow
Heated summers tuned
All darkness


II.

Possess our being: wrath, 
Uncertain, fear, quivering tense,
illusory victories.

Of the lunar and roundness fairy
Of the sun in his polar hades
Dance, the last movement of rhythm

Those black swan whirl, flat rocks.
Hidden to a blue coffin, sing and dance.
until next, winter solstice.

23/09/2020