READ OUR STORIES |
READ OUR STORIES |
Of Unbrushed Hair and He Who Stands in Grandeur
My sister is winging a sharp eyeliner
She paces frantically back and forth in between —
Brushing her hair, caressing and ironing the black floral wrap dress
The one with the little white peonies engraved on, that she loves so much
She tells me she’s not to put on a lot of blush
Upon enquiring, she says her fiancé doesn’t like it—though she does.
CHERRY BLOSSOM FESTIVAL (KA TAMASA KI CHERRY)
The paradise of love, in its adorn bliss,
In its decor of grandeur, remains through the day.
These cherry tree flowers have bloomed, charmed and irresistible—
Their distinguishing dress so beautifully displayed.
The cherries adorn themselves in fitting attire,
Along with the gentle autumn breezes,
Which yield to winter's cold embrace.
To Play In the Snow
I wore my blue button down
layered with a white sweater
Yet the cold glued over me
like the ghost of an old lover
holding the woollen armour
Rush Hour
There's no cadence
in morning rush hours—
as anger burst like atomic bombs
and words splattered
like spilt tea on a white sheet;
A Mother's Lament: Sorrow's Enduring Embers
What of the child,
so pure and young,
the family's breadwinner,
whose old mother, ever vigilant
listens for his return.