Trauma in the Flower Garden

Perhaps I chewed too much the memory
of playing in the flower garden; now bitter
juice flows from it. I’ve been living with the

sweet taste of the memory; all of a sudden,
bitter taste runs over the picture; it distorts
the look of joy; the sewer stink from the

flower transforms the struggle of passion
into the labor for survival and the moaning
of ecstasy into the shriek of death. I kept

taking out and lick the cherished memory;
its sweet skin that’s been barely holding is
peeled off and the pain and would that have

been hidden are crawling all over my mind
just like worms are roaming around in the rain.
In the end, beauty is just a single layer? The

happy moment was just a dream? The flower
garden was a just mirage? Should I take the
picture down and burn it with fallen leaves?

When I Die

Deaths are rampant these days
All around the world
I see my own death
It’s a huge black bear
Watching me roaming behind a humungous tree
I see no way out
Just waiting for the bear to devour me
Yeah! Death is so near but
The bear looks so cute

I am curious
How will a guy like me
Who’s been moping around
For his whole life
What kind of death is being prepared for him?
What kind of dying mode is appropriate for me

When I die
Will I be in severe pain or
Will I die peacefully while sleeping?
Will I be the same guy as now or
Will I become a different or better guy?
Will I have a time to review my life?
Well, I have plenty of time to look back on my

What would be the last person in my mind
When I die?
I hope it would be a woman
Or since I will be so obsessed with dying
There will be no place for any person
Any dog any cat?

My death would be a shadow of my life
Sounds like a beautiful expression but
Is it proper?

So What?

A guy is dying with cancer, I hear.
So what?
There is nothing I can do for him.
Prayer? What prayer?
I am already in that line
with familiar faces.
I might cut in line.
Standing on the cliff,
To offer that guy a prayer
that I am loath to hear?

The only thing I can do
is to look up with vacant eyes
at a vulture that is circling overhead.

Not Afraid of Woman? It’s a Sin. (Mark 6:17-29)

Among those born of women,
there has not risen anyone greater than
John the Baptist, but

he was killed by two women – mother and daughter
in vain.
John was not afraid of King Herod,
how could he be afraid of
mere women? However,

Who could win over a woman who was harboring grudge?
Who could stop a woman who was holding poison in her mouth?
A woman who was sharpening sword for revenge would sheathe it back?

John who was ignorant of woman
and didn’t try to know woman –
The voice of the wilderness that made the King tremble,
was silenced by a woman’s wrath.
What a humiliating death as a man!

What’s so big deal about how to die?
Even Jesus who is God died a horrible death by ordinary men.
If you die a spectacular death,
your ragged life would look greater?
My life might be pretty shabby since I want to die a noble death.

Well, if I try to be afraid of women for the rest of my life,
I might be able to avoid the shameful death of John the Baptist….

Another Bullet

Today, just like yesterday, another bullet
failed again to crush my life. My body was
rattled a bit but my mind was as calm as
the morning sun. Bullets failed to demolish
my life million times before. Dozing, I forgot
I was in a battle field where bullets will fail to
flatten my life tomorrow, just like today until
they go through and dissipate my life for good.
So smile at the desperate bullets and celebrate
just like a moron. I was born and will die in the
war zone while keep staring at the missing bullets
and expecting the next one to hit the target – me?
A bullet of destiny could hit you anytime, anywhere.
Then your life will be gone in a blink so life is no
big deal so don’t get too serious about anything.
Not sure this would be the right conclusion, but
this is the only sensible mind-set for now. Yeah.


A gross bug that was
trapped in my window screen
is happily running through my backyard.
I saved its precious life.
I did something good, didn’t I?
I haven’t solved the world peace, but
saving bug’s life would be a good start, wouldn’t it?
I don’t have any plans A to Z for world peace,
since not sure I can even solve my peace
before my life expires in this world.

I killed many stray ants in my bathroom.
In fact, I did massacre hosts of ants in my kitchen.
Too bad I terminated precious lives God created.
Having feeling a tiny bit of guilt about
defending my nest against irritating infiltrators would be
a good start for becoming a human who appreciates
God’s great work of creation, wouldn’t it?
I just don’t want my life terminated meaninglessly
like bugs and ants in my place.
Respect others then you will be respected.
Not sure this should include bugs and ants…and
women who bug me…

BTW, ant is a kind of bug?
How about bugging women?

Writing this looks silly, doesn’t it?

Stuck in My Coffin

I am feeling stuffy,
hard to breathe.

Where the heck am I?
Why is so dark here?
Why is so quiet here?
Why is so hard to move?
Why do I have so many questions?

Am I in a coffin;
Six feet under
In a graveyard
In the middle of nowhere?

Why do I think
I am stuck in a coffin?
Do I smell my decaying body?
Or my decaying spirit?
Or both?
Or none?

I try to slightly push the top of my coffin
With my feeble little finger
Damn! It’s being opened?
The top of the coffin is gone!
Is that a blue sky – in my eyes?
Is that a bird – flying over my coffin?
Is that green pasture – surrounding my coffin?
Am I dead?
Is this Heaven?
It surely doesn’t look like Hell!

An old weary-looking horse is standing by my coffin.
Is that horse my ride?
I don’t know how to ride a horse!
Lying in a coffin for many decades
Wasn’t that bad after all…..yeah!

Too many question marks!