Chinhooi Zhenhui

 My university is pink  because i  found a lover someone to keep  and look after my university is black it ground my edges i lost my old  character my university is golden it's where i discovered my vulnerability  i was awakened to  my reality years have been ruthless relentless time does not return i can only start from now to level the potholes in my path for the sake of the passion to be with the love.

 As soon as i stand  at the window i feel like I'm standing  back from a child's perspective an encounter with the city half is in the eye half in the heart then this piece of glass  which part of the city does it belong to and my stay at the window right now am i kind of  lost.

 Look for the green of early spring traverse the passion of emerald water uncover the depths of the soul this is our home this is our future our tomorrow starts here poetic triumph floral victory destined to be the ending.

 Weekend afternoon a bottle of water a book a bicycle alone enjoying the warm breeze greenish riverbank blue water flowing light fragrance of forsythia refreshing made for a wonderful weekend a wonderful afternoon wonderful scenery wonderful fragrance made possible by wonderful nature.

 Darkness breaks into houses people are poisoned asleep in the middle of the night they know not the ambition of darkness they are smiling sweetly  darkness is roaring however wanting people to slumber forever but darkness will be defeated by justice when the sun loads the gun with golden bullets darkness will unquestionably be shattered to smithereens.

 One evening a cup of tea sitting idly listening to some music espying silent reverie thinking some people some things.

 Red azaleas line a fathomless valley the color of flame burning hill and dale inebriating fishes hummingbirds butterflies and herd.

 The prairie sprawling into the infinite distance a grassland without lions is here where the time is always the sunset melodic wind blowing from paleness to the sheet music that sparks question marks.

 I have always felt that poetry is the most beautiful language i have heard poets can melt the frost into hot boiling tears they can make the moonlight gentler and the lotuses more markedly charming readers like me can find resonance of beats in between punctuation harvesting a feeling enjoying the harmony of the rhythms poetry has life and characters direct straightforward bold subtle amorous graceful lively clever cute introverted quiet and a little melancholic that's why poetry is the most beautiful language that's been spoken always leave my core shaken.

A kind of mood when the shades of trees quietly walked away the sun had just completed a meditative painting.

 Walking in the crowded street a multifariousness of posies glittering the visit of Valentine's is the sublimation of a love life the attention to Valentine's day is another elucidation of fashion not too many words just a bouquet of chocolate looking forward to the response in the eyes nothing would be more thrilling than being submerged in this periwinkle ocean tonight besides the roses, the dessert, the music earnest omnipresent blessings filling the harbor of the heart Valentine's day what should i send you well I'd like to send you wisps of night breeze some fine rain and the soft light of spring a patch of the sakura scene on the rainbow bridge a plushie a butterfly and a moon for you to hang outside your room. Valentine's night a roseate night an assertive love averred across the sky the patch of wilderness you've trodden is the dream of February clouds are blushing tender sprouts smiling a hazy feeling of neon moon and dream hugging mosaics of stars garn...

 a bottle of wine, like the moon tonight a slice of time dipped in the sauce of lime the air-dried old love, in a cup of magic potion, the ignited segment of a year like the twirling smokes pasted on windows.

 The west wind walked past just like that blew out candles in its path leaving behind a book half-read the room murky reflecting the dimness and blueness outside the window when falling leaves drift like the echoes of the bygone years when the sentiments of the nightscape condensate in the eyes recalling those days love went by just like the westerly.

Howl of wind swaying outside the window opining that the sheep are clouds from above who couldn't resist the temptation of the earth of green they had no choice but to fall down to the prairie.

Livid clouds then raindrops the sky is an endless ink wash painting dynamic stereoscopic somewhat elegant rainbow comes after a touch of curlicue a plume of hues.

Morning the wind is gentle the light is vague memory is clear freshness of misty morning is kept in the deepest place.

In a morning a dewdrop like a pearl shining its mind accommodates not just a sun's brilliance.

Night thick with serenity  and ink moon atilt tinging shades of soft light endless Milky Way stars are free to flash loneliness is quiet outside the curtain of old dream thoughts are chasing the clear waves of time the mind is learning to be simple and happy free and easy same piece of sky can be outlined with different brushes same touch of moonlight can be traced with different emotions a touching scenery every constellation is a bright melody to a warm heart and every cloud a blooming motif a euphuistic affair at leisure time a jaunt to chapters of inked journey flipping through moods reading through the heartfelt ecstasy.

 A poet's shoreline shimmering broad-minded vast with traces of wind figures of seagulls ebb and flow of thoughts on the edge of the shore billowing waves beating against the heart the rising blossoming white foam on the waves a meandering string of footprints i want to take you to the sea the see the ebb and flow of thoughts on the edge of the shore.

A sip of tea and looking into the distance twilight closing in birds returning on the windowsill a cat walks by so quietly beads on the wrist feel numb unequivocally shadow is moving back and forth seems to be scrawling the lament of life sound of falling leaves gently falls to the ground thoughts with a soul floating around facing the emptiness of a world not a bright word generated all is staying silent.

 Purity of water blended in rusticity of soybeans too so that's why tofu ordinary yet noble no comparison no stooping down to meat tissues always keeps a good attitude soft delicate and smooth the taste is praiseworthy add a little scallion it gets more stylish more elegant that's what people call standards of life tofu plus shallots clean and righteous.

Heart shapes growing out of the ground soaring with the steam of the soil bright red and stunning freshness and tenderness dedicated to hardworking folks pixies from the ground armed with charm of poetry pure and sweet-smelling brightness and refreshing energy dedicated to kind caring folks beauties from the ground marked with splendor of a natural painting simplicity and elegance nobleness and preciousness dedicated to art-loving folks all juice that's sweet and sour softness experienced in the throat deliciousness that meets the tummy's goal.

 The light of the bank makes me think I'm out of money why is it so bright the light of this consignment shop the glow of the shampoo room surprisingly reddish street lights are okay a little blankly and silly car lights are too bright speeding in the night too much lights i can't read them all i look up half a moonlight indistinct the rift between something and nothing moonlight tumbling from high places sprinkled on rice stubble and haystack on river water and mulberry tree on the secluded dirt road there's something hauled into someone's dreamland.

Waking up early we have to face the night the thickness endlessness of darkness we have to be still calm our breath and breathe with heaven and earth when you wake up early you will get to see the darkness slowly fade the stars from the hilltops on the east side becoming sparse and the receding night weep on the edge of a leaf in the meantime groups that multiply in the murk such as loneliness, shadows, fear, etc rodents that were getting wilder and madder one by one they will melt away like that pile of snow on the road waking up early we must keep a lamp believe in the power of the light is capable of shutting darkness out then we will quietly welcome the morning in the glory of our sunrise.

On the left side is a small stream and on the right is the main road that way when i stretch out both hands i can grasp the clarity and the high speed i tend to look to the left without thinking there are extra clouds the stream never seems tired of replicating clarity siding with purity.

Just how many things the moon does running in the vast empty sky running in the dense black woods across the slopes of desert snowy trench of wilderness even houses and ruins that have died thousands of times the moon is a just naive child going where humans live and don't searching at the edge of the unreachable horizon wanting to escape the nights that just can't be wanting to find a day where it will belong when we're talking about stars the stars that can glow by themselves are untouchably far away this happens to be kind of like us on this narrow road of unknown seeking a belief to trust in.