Dust Wind's Night

Crystal Ball

It snowed early this year.

I trudged down the path,

that was said to have taken the lives

of those who came before me.

I rubbed my hands together,

and I thought I saw them tinted with red.

But my hands were clean,

I was sure that I had  washed them

before I ran here.

I gulped and walked on.

I could barely remember now,

the shape and taste of the food I have had

in the other world.

Strawberries, chocolate, shellfish, nuts, mustard…

they pop into my mind from time to time,

but what are they?

Snow intruded my world,

whispered into my ears,

urged me to go on.

Time stopped outside this snowy crystal ball,

I know it had.

Continuing down the path,

snow hit my face, blinded my sight,

pushing the air out of me.

Crunch. I stepped on something.

Bending down, swiping away the snow.

It was a head,

the head of a past president.

My throat constricts,

fear gropes my heart,

I couldn’t even whisper the name,

his name ー

George Washington.

Miracle

Should we call it a miracle,

to be able to see, to be able to speak?

Or should we take it for granted,

to be able to hear, to be able to feel?

I once saw a little girl,

grappling blindly for her way down the stairs.

She wobbled and fell,

like a newborn trying to find her way out.

Hands touching the wall,

feeling the coldness seeping into her skin,

she smiled, reassured as if contented by her discovery

that the Earth is flat.

I once saw a little boy,

jumping wildly with his hands in the air,

yelling and shouting in words that made no sense.

Oddly pronounced phrases,

weird sounding noises,

only that he was speaking Klingon

could explain the words

that were sprouting out of his mouth.

I see myself in the mirror,

mouth hanging in the air into a silent scream.

I clap my hands to make noises,

I stomp my feet to make sounds,

I open my mouth,

but nothing comes out.

What should we define a miracle?

The beginning of life The resurrection of the dead?

I do not know, for the only miracle I yearn for

is the voices I have lost

since I was born.

Little Things

Trailing down muddy path,

the weight pressing on to my shoulders.

Heaving a great sigh,

the world seems to be crushing on to me.

Keep going,

straight ー

yes, over there.

Neurons signaling impulses,

limbs move automatically,

colours fading

like the old black and white movie.

Stop,

sit still,

wait.

Even the wind

has its own meaning of life.

Sweeping fallen leaves,

making them swirl and dance.

Drive.

Stop.

Drive.

Stop.

The earth rumbled,

the world has finally decided to end my misery.

But then, I hear the sound again,

shrieking into my ears.

No, not again….

Stepping hard on the brake,

the smell of gasoline permeates the air,

seeps into my skin,

surges into my senses,

slowly and cruelly choking me on the inside.

Doors open,

footsteps closing in.

“Thank you!” they smile,

disappearing around the corner.

Doors close,

I drive on,

feeling a smile on my lips.

Flying Home

I am awake,

Lying on immaculate white bed,

Staring at solemn stars shining

In the pitch black night in my darkest memory.

I have been awake,

For hours, days, months, years,

So long that I have failed to keep count.

How long? How long?

The crows have croaked.

Opening my mouth, trying

Trying to reply, but sand…

Oh, the treacherous sand,

Rushing into my mouth,

Strangling, suffocating, and choking me.

I heard the cackling laughter of the crow,

Resonating, echoing in the darkness.

Squeezing my eyes shut,

Bracing myself for the impact.

I feel the heat and hear the engine hum,

And Smack! A slap on the cheek.

I am back.