1. |
A Wander in Liminality
03:12
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And I wade through dusken swamps,
knees deep in red joss paper.
My back slouches,
bearing this urn of my own ashes.
Like white fingers,
the lotus pierce the surface.
Hidden in the fog, their chantings heard.
And somewhere beneath the ripples,
a snake shed its tears, its cries muffled.
To drown in a sea of wisdom,
with my youth gladly I shall trade.
While choking on mother's milk
and entangled in long lost lullabies.
Decades of pain and suffering,
stripped bare with one last breath.
A lifetime of sins,
pardoned as the eyes are shut.
And even if nothingness awaits,
it's naught but another dream.
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2. |
Lệ Chi Viên
07:40
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Tragedy befell them at dawn.
Like cattle they were herded,
young and old, all four hundred.
Before the headsman rounded.
With its own blood,
innocence answered for its crime.
Three generations of treasonous blood
were to be weeded out.
Mouth of deceit, womb of fornication.
Up on the throne, the regent rested,
as the bastard seed took its sprout.
Four hundred heads in chains,
cut clean from their necks.
Saved for the "conspirator",
who, in a cage, she drowned
deep down in the water of the Red river.
Tragedy written in blood of the innocence,
a stain that took decades to clean.
Almost six hundred autumns may have passed.
Yet who dares forget the August regicide,
or how the serpent got its revenge.
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3. |
Ất Dậu
07:11
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Lingering in the atmosphere
like a thin veil was the scent
of smoke and of death.
Its presence everywhere,
in the dawning's fog,
in the cold still water,
in the eyes of the living
and the dying alike.
Decorating the surface
was a pale shade of the perished.
Nameless strangers now as one,
in the peaceful soil they shared,
for their suffering had finally ended.
Prowling aimlessly
was the silhouette of the remnants.
Filthy ragdolls
tormented by the unseen hands of famine.
Reduced to mere animals,
blackened skin and bones.
Upon their own kin,
ravenous eyes gloating, craving.
Once, there had been laughter.
Once, endless golden fields would run.
Now, on rotting husks,
jute and cotton thrived.
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4. |
Storm over the South Sea
06:03
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The horizons darken.
Descended from the aether,
clouds have gathered.
From the midnight of the aphotic,
abominations of the depths emerge.
Awaken from his slumber,
once again the Water God of old
rises from the depths.
An eerily calm on the surface of the water,
as lightning rips apart the Autumn sky.
Earth holds its breath, as trees begin to dance.
An ancient ritual, calling for the inferno
to rain down from heaven.
An unstoppable force of nature.
Once deceived, millenniums of hatred
have blackened his bones.
Burning rage grows within him each day.
A vow for vengeance, to conquer land.
To reclaim a promised, treasured prize.
Now in his wake, all lives shall drown.
All shall suffer his wrath:
Home swept away, crops rot and wither,
children drown in their sleep,
as crows feast upon floating, bloating corpses.
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5. |
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Pale eyes gazed at the setting sun.
Bright flames danced on weathered skin.
Southbound, the feeble heart yearned.
In exile, only the birds harked his cries.
Sorrow walked in his steps,
longing warmed his bed at night.
In dreams only, the torments ceased.
Where he drowned in pools of memory.
Decrepitude greeted at his gate.
Winter came as birds headed South,
cloaked him in a Northern solitude.
Came the morning misery waited.
Cursed to feed on life's bitter milk.
To wither on a day when no one knows.
In a foreign land, in a foreign tongue,
never again shall he taste
the Southern motherly warmth.
Forever, in foreign soil shall his bones lay.
Alas, sorrow turned to ash,
and longing into stone.
On a lonely plaque,
engraved his eternal will:
"He who ventures Southward...
pray, take my bones with thee".
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6. |
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Piercing through shades of emerald,
around me the vibrant sunlight dances.
Yet, it's so cold.
Here I lie, surrounded yet alone.
Among the breath of dying men.
Far from home, left here to die.
In this green haven, forever we'll dwell.
A burning flame,
that a thousand breezes can't extinguish.
A chilling frost,
that a thousand suns won't thaw.
I am but a pale, lifeless shade,
as hair abandons my scalp.
Each morning colors seem to fade,
distorted grow the nightingale's songs.
A thousand suns burn around me,
ten thousand winters inside.
Springs pass by, still lies this husk.
Brittle bones now wrapped in silk.
I am one with the forest.
Forever lost, we wander.
To tread on dead leaves,
to flow with the cold streams.
Through mountains and passes,
among the solemn trees we roam.
Frustrated and confused,
the restless souls wonder
If they will ever be found.
Naught, but forgotten, we are.
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