Teesta Review: A Journal of Poetry, Volume 1, Number 2. November 2018. ISSN: 2581-7094
Accident
--- Yuan Changming
Fiction hit
The fact hard, and ran
With truth per se
Being the only witness
The Past
More than enough has been recollected
about being in the past. It’s no time
to be, yet except for a handful few,
many
keep filling in the blanks of the present
with the leftovers of the past, or catching
the past from the present moment as if the
present
were a tail of a vanishing fish rather than
a rock from which the colt is
running
to the rising sun. Indeed, the trouble with
the past is that it is deadly lost in the white pages
of history. plus, even if the past can
be edited, but never
be rewritten. So, let’s move to the future
where
the wise men want us to, where the pasts
cannot
prevent us from surpassing the present
Listening to the
Wind: a Parallel Poem
You left there in old age
a snow ball off the slope
heard a bus to heaven (or to hell)
heard a field without any crop growing there
which may have been reserved for an alien growth
heard a young girl across the street
dancing around a crowd of robots getting newly old
heard a bomber taking off the New Foundland
while frogs were singing a lost monody
on the other side of the world at midnight
heard a key hit hard before a blinking screen
& a naked body turning & twisting
constantly on bed
heard a couple of blackbirds tangoing on a powerline
&
myriad leaves falling against autumn
heard an icicle beginning to melt under the afternoon sun
ready to shed tears in memory
of last storm:
Shhh, my Lord, just let sounds
Fill up my ears, and heart stealthily
Sub-Selfhood: a Saying Sonnet
Each self of yours
is nothing(ness)
but a shadow. Depending on
whether there’s sunshine, or
Where the sun hangs
above the landscape, your shadow
keeps changing itself
within a shapeless shape
sometimes shorter, other times longer
always moving around your proto being
bloated against light
under the sun, the moon, or
a lamp deep in the valley
of darkness surging towards dawn
Refracted Reflections (II)
1/ Self-Discovery
Unlike a handful of mud
shaped by Fate
like an urchin, each
of us is a rubber ball:
the harder we hit
against a wall
the higher we bounce
2/ Return Trip
Collecting our past footprints
as does every lost soul
we live a double life
as if through
a posthumous excursion