The Surface does Matter
response to the common saying that the skin of something is less important than its inside

Sometimes I ask, does surface matter?

It is a clichéd topic that can be applied

In an unconventional context.

People show their emotions with their skins,

That’s a majority of conversation

The surfaces of the earth is where we live

It’s no surprise that

all life populates near the earth’s crust

When matter collide, it is actually

just a contact between surfaces

When substance is formed,

it is the electrons on the surface

that do the interaction.

It is the surface of black holes that prove

The existence of space-time,

It is the horizon of earth that told us

The planet is not flat.

It is the surface that we see,

It is the surface that we live,

And of course,

It is only the surface that we know.

But sometimes,

“Beauty is skin deep”

I had Changed 
how my life has altered over the past few years

As days go by fast like a gunshot,
I had changed a lot.
Clutching my memory in a tangled knot,
I could recall the amazing plot.
I had changed...

I am still changing every day.
New and fresh like the molded clay

Some scenes I can barely replay.
While some are as clear as the sun in May.
I had changed...
I used to be small and little,
Protected because I’m brittle,
As if I am in a safety circle.
But now,
I am off to myself, careful.
and ready avoid the evil.
I had changed...

No idea about knowledge when I was smaller
As I grew older and stronger,
Under the help of friends and teacher,
Lots of skills that  I master.
and most things are clearer
I had changed...

I used to imagine,
Putting myself into my own world,
It was amazing to be there.
Alas,
When I was older,
the world faded
it is like an award that is never won

A email that is never received,

A book that is never opened

Like a poem that doesn’t rhyme.

Books

Books are the smooth metaphors of life

One sometimes wonder,

If these mysterious forms of art are tangible

What you are holding, the pages printed with words

Is that really a book

Or is it a place of a fantasy.

When you spend more than a day

On a single piece of work

You have been tricked by the deceitful illusion

Of the fantastical world that books bring

You have given up to the hoax

Thinking that you are in a different realm

The theme and the tone of a novel,

Whether comforting, enchanting, enigmatic, insincere, or distracting

Continues to glorify and feed the needs of many

Books are like a long lasting friend

A helium balloon that you would never let go,

The colour of reflection on a soap bubble,

And a plant with both flowers and thorns.

Books may get torn apart

The pages may become loose,

But the experience that a single book brings

Is a conundrum that extends a life time. 

Bon Apétit
In the style of Michael Ondaatje

The charming impressionistic music 
sounds like the frame of an exquisite painting
like an unpolished but expensive pearl
like a new toy in mint condition
like vapour rising from a hotspring
heavy fog in the cool morining
white clouds against the broad sky
setting sun above the horizon.
Like mango flavoured ice cream down 
your throat in a hot sunny day,
like a warm bath after spending hours 
outside in pouring rain,
like someone welcoming you to a feast
and then wishing you "Bon Apétit".
like the train tracks that meet at one point in the distance
like the snow on the remote mountain peak
like an empty football stadium before the final.
Like 2 hot air ballons levitating over your head
like a conductor indicating a fermata
like a the reflection of moon on a tranquil pond
like walking on bridge over a river with incandescent fish
opening the Scientific American that just arrived,
touching a trophy that never can be won,
holding on to the phone, waiting for an expected call,
like watching a city at night through a blurred window.
Like the smell of the bread from the bakery
of a sports equipment room
of a new car that has just been bought.
Like standing up after sitting through 
a two-hour lecture
Like the feeling I have when the bass drum does 
its soft, but thunderous roll.

The Summer Breeze
In the style of William Carlos Williams

So much depends 
upon

a warm summer
breeze

carrying the scent
of berries

forcing the crops 
to bend