Any more orange? Any need for chai?
you always know fingering,
pockets and sense of fly
for miles beyond that I may in.
So silent, I look above——scars swear something I,
have conquered or made but beside that,
is staring mountain or
voice in stones flows at,
Sip of blood stirs for
an untidy kid,
on both knees.
Ai, wind crossing his hair,
knitting while spidering,
and sliding,
one by one appear,
his soul and back,
which was and is still,
a sword's aches.
hey you, look in a beating will.
why shouldn't? they said I have got my father's eyes.
(A poem written for my parents birthday, happy birthday, my father.)
YOU ARE READING
Tigress from the east
PoetryA poetry collection written by a Chinese girl. Biggest life goal of her: sitting in perfect balance of daylights and nights, back towards a mysterious naked tree, a cup of chai is better than coffee. Thinking, turn a being as living
