These eyes

These eyes, these big, round eyes
are huge basins you can fill up to overflowing.
Pour onto them like a downpour,
your glances and smiles.

These eyes will open wide like windows,
to let in your charm like an evening breeze.
Their pupils will dilate unabashedly,
like stars twinkling between shifting clouds.

These large, round eyes will close
only when like a multimedia file,
your impressions are stored
in my network of synapses.

These eyes are my compass,
always pointing themselves to you.

Jam

I did not take the ramp today,
believing straight roads
are easier to navigate,
but six-by-six trucks
and swerving cabs halting,
stall my poem abruptly,
like an unexpected brake light
flashing.

I wiggle my head,
like a pencil in between fingers,
unable to remove a poem
from a jam.

The Chinese Sprinter

He lies on the ground, fallen
like a house collapsed by a great quake,
whose door was used for his makeshift bed,
after clearing debris off him.

The tremor sprinted past him,
as his legs failed to deliver more,
stumbled over the shaking earth
and the tumbling concrete.

His friend later found him
among the rows of the dead,
found him curled,
as if running away still-

with white rubber shoes,
jogging suit in red and blue,
and a Chinese textbook over his face.

You Left Before I Could

I miss you mom whenever I am happy.
I did run to your warm embrace,
wasting your time with my crazy lines.

I miss you whenever I am sad or lonely,
recalling times I rested my head
on your slim shoulders.

I miss you mom whenever I felt returning
all the love you gave and shared.
You always knew I would.

I miss you mom whenever I felt like saying
'thank you' for standing up beside me,
for the choices I made

that differed from yours, made you sigh,
and broke your heart. You know I would
but you left before I could.

Young Seeds

With backpack on his shoulders, he's ready
to leave this view of wide open paddies,
brightly green and golden from reflections
of sunlight from each basin.

She often walks with him in these fields,
their small talk he collects in his head
like water settling in the paddies,
as if to ensure high yield of recall for her.

But whatever his eyes see in hers,
or whatever she sows in his heart,
it is not enough for promises to be made.
Both are seedlings buried under water.

After the Rain

While the downpour blurs the colors
outside the window pane,

you alone appear
like a torrent washing down my face.

I let you cling to me
as if to drench my shirt,

but you left so soon,
the sky breaking out in blue

and here I am
still soaking from you.

Fears Under a Moonless Night

Walk this unlit road
where stars blink at your fears

and catch every shift of shadows,
every whisper, quiver,

process them like lab specimen
in your brain.

A vision breaks out:
the next day's headlines, its images-

a body with blade-opened neck,
lit by the new day

but the lamp posts lighting up
appear like lab results reporting negative.