Jazz is still my favourite.

When Life

Sometimes, things grow heavy
Heavy in your swollen eyes filled with gravy
Yet is it not a heaviness in your heart so long and far
A grief you cannot escape thus far?

Sometimes, my face grows heavy
I speak to myself all day
As my jolted heart bears no more
To speak to mouths of stone and molton iron

Sometimes, my heart feels cold
An empty heart with a soul
Yet a black-hole finds its way in part
As mind and heart segmented, one in a jar

Sometimes, when I do feel sad
I tell myself to smile
For it is right to smile in vain
For life can only travel this far

Sometimes, when life comes to pass
I will fly like a bird
Forgotten
Into the past

Into happiness in part

De zhong

The Ghost

I see him walking down the cobbled street
His eyes of grey reflecting desires I seek
A boy of 15 so forlorn and cold
Dreams of a beautiful past I have told
Sometimes I see him, beneath the cornea of my eye
A shadow of the past, a memory of mine
For the ghosts of your past will pass away
As the nights of your dreaming turns to day
Where do they go when they leave?
They go into the shadows, shifting like thieves
Sometimes I see him, beneath the distractions of time
A poor little boy, not theirs nor mine
But belonging to no one, not adored and forgot
By all who walks through life blind
Happiness they do not find
Someday, when they do die
They will find themselves like this boy
Unable to let go, to let go of their insignificant toys
In limbo for the rest of their days
Fading memories of fate
Repeating past and undue mistakes
Undone
Are the doors in their heart
For it was no more.

De Zhong

Eradicating This Pig-let of a Bully

Dreaming of forgetting unhappy memories
I let my mind set free
Although in my nightmares, sometimes
this girl, clad in white, with a large mouth, ratty nose comes
a devilish smirk on her face, her voice as loud as Medea's scream
I falter in my footsteps to friendship
I lie down squirming in self agony
I am silent.
Running away is stationary
I use my leg-claws
Dug a massive hole with due unintention
And I hide from this monster
And similarly from all other angels
This will not do, though my wings remain clipped
I will grow them back, shed my heavy weight of a heart
Fly free and set free
The mocked bird lying forlornly in my stone heart
I will grow to find you so
To love what I have lost
To regain cheerful memories which unkind words have robbed
To be free from the clutches of hypocrisy and arrogance
And unkind words
Of the Bully.

Happy faces.

The Wait

Waiting patiently for my days to go by.
For it to be over,
where I can stroll guiltless through trees of green
where I can think free
run free away from all this madness
written madness of life

Dancing zebras are what I dream of

as Life is more than I can say
more than I can feel
more than I can take
The instantaneous detail
the momentary happiness and fear of the unknown
few unknown
few unspoken
much left to hear
that one cannot hear
one that one may avoid
and seek to find
some meaning
in depths of meaningless struggle
for momentary pride and favor
with beings not worth your respect
of elderly snobbery
and gossip
and laugh
and lust of gleeful words
of sniggering hurts
of life not well lived

Memories

Memories, just a bitter lingering after taste in your mouth

washed dry with the sweetness of passion

the nostalgia of innocent happiness forever buried

by the realization of the evil of this world

the childhood clamor of old friends replaced

with the silence and coldness of strangers long before

and the awkwardness I feel

lingering, lingering

as she turns a head up high, back to the conversation

as I never existed.

Will you never grow out of your facade?

The Mulberry

Once and twice, whereupon the mulberry bush I go, chasing for berries, those so sweet and gulp,
gulp,
down they go, with sweet nothings they return to, disappeared now and forever.

Tiredness results as the clock turns the hour, and I close an eye, exhausted and no more. Time passes and I grow old and weary, yet the bush remains

Sweet, never changing, never changing, and it seems my work has all gone to waste as I have nothing in my possessions now,with only heart ache and a selfish demeanor, yet no joy lights up

My mind, much lesser my heart, as I remain
alive.

Time passes no much longer,
and it is the end.

The Liar

You! With a mask so pure: dancing around in zest
With dandelions in your hair and a craving for bird's nest,
You are expensive, you are.
The rosy red in your cheeks allures your innocence into giving its all
And you, with a turn of your pursed lip, you change into a demure smile
And continue lying to the world about being good and content:
for you are vengeful, your hatred burns like a candle
Oiled with kerosene;
You never stop burning, yet the ice in your heart hides your anger and insecurity
With much monstrosity,
You blink a seducing eye in hope of concealing your ugliness
that will never show even with the onset of old age -
The ugliness of sin -
Woe!
You look upon us from a painted view of Paradise:
Tropical trees swaying gently in the distance - yet all still in their lifelessness
You beckon to us - and we are lured into the trap of hope
We walk - yet we can enter it not
The oil pastels break upon our touch, the canvas crumpling under our innocent step into oblivion
As you look, smiling sweetly in a gently crafted mask of perfect oval
Hiding an ugly gloat behind the facade,
You beckon to us again as you gloat at how you were able to bring us into the same Hell as you - the hell of self delusion and blind Naivety,
You gently sway to the soft music
Hands twirling in all their genteelness
As you dance to delude the world and yourself.
Contentment?

At Noon

Illness - a degeneration of the mind
Silently aching away in the depths of your pulsing organ
Alas! Your heart feels the pain -
When your eyes misbehave - blurring away into oblivion
You wait in vain for a cure
Over the New Year,
Under the apricot tree, you laugh weakly.

De Zhong

Dellusion

The irony so bitter -
The sweet rose growing alongside a weed
The stagnant picture burns a deep hole in the memory
of someone long dead.

The deception so bright -
The sweet rose being a fading picture
The truth being seen only in the other window
of someone far away, a shadow.

The grief so slight -
The sweet rose growing towards a glowing Sun
The moon neglected as always
The rose hides away in night.

The sweet rose -
the scent sweet
beckoning across a window.

De Zhong

Winter Solace

I feel cold.
Wrapped in a foreign sweater, I am stifled by the stench
of my own life
Stares and glares and the turning of the hair
I watch - contemplative
I voice out silent words
"Sorry" No one hears it -
and yet they accept it with a subtle
Turning of the eyes
They stare
they look away
They move as if repelled
repelled by the insanity
The inconsistent
shifting of the eyes
the stutter
the stare
the weak - feeble
attempt to smile! A glare returned
It is hard, is it not
Smile, dear boy
as you walk out of the door
To face the world.
Alone.

De Zhong

The Gift

Giving me a little bit of
Angelic melody
Ringing and pulsing through my ears
Yes - a delightful melody
Giving me a little bit of
Ornamental flavorings to this wretched life
Happiness ensues
Happiness ensures that
On this very day
Never forgetting this
Gift of love
My treasure
I will treasure it
Never forgetting this and
Giving back a sweet thank you.

De Zhong

The Other Song

Jazzing through the ages,
Over a tri-coloured plastic rainbow
New city lights blinking to life
The singing voice of some distant singer
Airing into my tired ears
New songs, new songs, lyrically saying
I love you
Rustic words of the past and now
Ever repeating
Always never stopping
Loneliness will always be non-existent
Laughter abounds
Yawning, I wander into the
Night scene of this day
Eerie fluroscent lights light up a slight
Edge of my weary face, my
Dreary life
Yawning, I look
Over my shoulder into the
Unseen darkness

Silently scanning for
A suspect
Dreading the future to come.

With The Wind

Gone with the wind,
A happiness evaporates,
A doll’s smiling face is washed –
Anointed with oil, cleansed with detergent
Then with tears
People walk on the streets
With nothing, with nothing
Nothing to their name.
I pick up a note –
Blowing my nose with a face of superficial emancipation
It is there, the face, the monkeys
Printed innocently on the crisp note –
Happily prancing through trees, a life of fun and game
A wonderful world – enclosed in the dimensions of the bank note
So sweet the scent can be, so fresh the odor may feel
The smell – it brings a twinkle
To every normal being’s lifeless eyes
Greed – I salivate
Yet I wake up from my dream
And use one of these to dry my tears.