:: Asia and Pacific Writers Network :: ARCHIVES

Thursday, February 01, 2007

Haikus Of Silence
Alvin Pang

earth

Today my father
no longer looks forward to
the rest of his life

One day my hands will
sprout into bone, and join the
trees in mute prayer.

One lonely vowel
seals these lips to guard my tongue
from its own rage: Home.

fire

7th month: Roads lined
with candles, their flames like tongues
of the forgotten.

Last train out, reeking
of burnt metal, sweat and dew
distilled from shadow.

Stillness too, brings heat.
Each glance from you, ignites. Your
ice can shatter stone.

Of course your touch burns.
It is when I wake and you
fade, that hope smoulders.

air

So much of our lives
written in air and lightning:
what if the winds come?

Stars without orbits:
Are words freed into ether
good for our karma?

No. My mother’s hurt
cannot be healed with haikus
from the internet.

water

Forget poetry:
too many words whitewash
what in silence, stains.

When your arms withdraw,
clouds darken to thunderstorm
in my room’s small sky.

Quiet. Outside, the
rain is falling. Your weeping
will drown out its song.
Alvin Pang

Filed under : EDITION - Water Edition