Written in the country of Chin and Chang


At the end of the day
Nothing was left
but the directionless
pale blueish smoke.


When the day was young
Chin and Chang
I had met them at Minseng,
their land is set much closer to us
and we are closer to them
that has been the deliberation
Though the tidings
the impressions
All bleak and barren


The brothers narrated
their lives
still obscure from several dying;
the love
they have made with their girls;
the meaning they have found in life;
their parents,
who had laid their lives
on the old but nicely written textbooks,
which they said, those are where they came from.
But how do I believe they came from textbooks?
It is as if man has lost
every animal in us and them.


Chin persisted I'm because
I'm not what I'm
I'm because I'm not what the death is
Perhaps he was right,
I have lost the life to be alive
Just some body parts
and some heads animate me
I'm refractory to the people
And I don't have any
national song to sing
though I heard somewhere
our national animals are the cock and pussy
But nothing matters anyway,
it's all smoke in the end
We will not even know
it's pale blueish.


Chang made me realised by contrast
Nothing to be happy about, though
If I'm not I'm,
If I'm not the what the death is,
I was suppose to be something
Cogito ergo sum
But should I be glad to know I exist
in a nameless country?


In this middle of the night
as I watch the smoke leaving
as it turns into zilch
the cigarette is giving me company
We are watching the slow death
of the night.



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