. . . is a book

Written day and night

With a pen that throbs light

And an ink mirrored by eyes.

In joys and cries,


And make it right.

Every chapter must be scribed

Legibly with might.

Though time is the antagonist not in sight

Blunt and crude, sigh

Burning all the pages, sigh.

Avid Reader with no face, smile

Is above the sky–


Damn Time

Time is another four-letter word
that may sound so simple
and very elementary;
but it has so much power
over you and me.

That perhaps
if religion and I
are strangers,
I’d say,
time must be god.

For everything,
and everyone
is subject
and constrained
of time:

To live
only to die. . .

To grow
only to perish. . .

To enjoy the vanity of youth
only to bear the grim of aging. . .

To learn
only to be senile. . .

Damn that time!

Its ironies
are violent winds
blowing my mind;
its neurons and electrons
are about to call 911.

The slow-thinking caterpillar
becomes a restless, all-knowing butterfly.

The endless sky from powder blue
turns deep black as day retires.

The ever vigorous Sun gets tired
being consumed by everything that breathes;

while the naked moon
with gay serenades;

and the stars
dance the time of their lives.

The pale seeds would spawn into
the greenest leaves;

radiant flowers
bloom in bliss;

But hey, those
are for just a while.

For those foliages would turn yellow and red
and be tossed by the wind without dignity;

while the blooms would lose their beauty without a trace
as their petals wilt in dismay.

The Missy who is once a head-turner for her flawless skin; now
wears cracks from her cheeks to heels.

The Adonis who is once adored for his six-pack;
now mocked for the beer barrels he carries front and back.

Damn that time!

Though my heart beats louder than the ticks of clock,
“time remains of the essence.”

Damn that time!