A MESSAGE FROM THE LONELY SEASON

You described reality and it smelled like chloroform
Orphan of an answer
you tried once, and again
in desperate innocuous attempt
to hide
the pain

Are your words,
like poetry and lies,
objects only?

objects of words
carriers of the sorrow of your lonely season
You believed I was
remote, predictable, sentimental, vulnerable
safely distant
from the void

In the silence of the dawn,
I burn incense
For real poetry can be made of no words
It happens with the heart only

Remotely, only the heart can save us
Remotely only the heart can save us

Sometimes, the wind favours the clouds,
Yet I stand still,
“Away you go!” I said to the wind
“Give me back a clear sky”
But Karma stood by its side.

Us, unattainable once again
Back to the lonely season
with its clouds

and its undecipherable messages
and chloroform-smelling words

Beijing, Tuesday, December 25, 2012

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