What goes by slower the faster you move?
Time, in the relative theory, and Alice in the Wonderland.
So if we were to race in space and you were ahead, with greater velocity, you would in fact be behind, in terms of time, I would be ahead.
Thus space and time are interwined into one big loop, the clock ticks away the time in terms of space, across the round surface the hands glide. While we ourselves glide as well across the universe in an eclipse. Time flies fastest at the center of the clock while time on the hands follow. Time on the sun must spin like crazy compared to ours on earth.
The faster you move
the slower time goes
my, what an irony,
the world jokes.
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Friday, October 29, 2010
Poem S
Poem S
The story teller.
Met amidst a rainbow,
brigded across the plains.
You had many names.
Many colours, camaflaged
your own being.
You dreamt of stairs and broken hearts
each at every flight, belonging
to everyone.
No one can mend a broken heart
but we ourselves can heal.
Our warmth and beams,
ray out towards each wound
cared for by the world.
We write poetry instead of philosophy
to bring our worlds together,
words are caught by strings of thought.
Rushing in, quickly, thoughts form seas:
seas that make us ponder what may be underneath.
We break in, holding our breaths, to the water.
Our eyes shiver from the cold and salt,
but not to halt we continue. Pressing on,
the navy blue takes a turn to black.
We scrape the bottom, before
we see, lungs cry out in agony.
Ascending forth we praise the air,
the sun, the warmth and light.
Our success and failure all the same
in the pitch submarine darkness.
Nothing meant to mean anything
leads to underwater abscurity.
Then why do we swim underneath, to see
what we cannot, where we cannot see.
That is a question of why we live,
of why we think of why we think.
Our spinning heads in the water form
a wave of curiosity, sends our thoughts
and feelings forth to clash and churn with
other waves made by turbines across the sea.
The storyteller makes such stories
told through the mouth of my own.
Songs are sent to him while
on me he plucks each tune.
No song lasts, all pieces end,
as ink is bound to dry. Just as
seas dry up, we know, though
we tend to deny.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Bleached in the Sun
BLEACHED IN THE SUN
“But my wife..."
Behind two black sedans and a glass show window a woman in a hiking suit stares across the table (with steel legs looking as fragile as the woman’s crossed fingers) at a man who seems to be her husband. The man is fully dressed in a suit; formally, his attire resembles that of a mannequin, flawless, but a drop of kimchi stain on his left sleeve. The sun chose to shine on the man's already gleaming shirt, a trembling pearl, and the cut edge smiles of the two salesmen, while one of them politely interrupts-
"Oh, Mr. Chu, surely that is no problem, luckily our brand has just the right vehicle for a madam in such condition. Would you care to take a look at this catalogue?"
As the two men take turns explaining the features of the automobile to be sold, the man's fingers reach for a cup of water, slowly; his eyes catch a glimpse of red on his sleeve, while the white paper cup is delivered to his lips. Right after taking a decent sip he diligently dampens the tip of a handkerchief pulled out from his right pants pocket. The woman watches her husband rub the stain with quick short strokes. 'Clumsy old man,' a thought goes by. She shifts herself, slightly, in her seat to ease the back pain.
"Yes, yes, that sounds fine. Very convenient, don't you think so, yeobo?” he asks, checking the dot on his sleeve which now, to his previous effort, has a slightly faded to orange.
"Of course, I do but really all I care about is the color, honey." she states as the woman shows her once brilliant smile, the smile which her husband used to call 'fit enough for a dental commercial', the smile that brought each other to fall into what some call 'love at first sight'. That was twenty some years ago.
For some reason, the man is suddenly perplexed. He does not frown but looks down at the catalogue which displays the same model in a variety of shades. 'Red, negative.' starting from the last page, he continues to flip backwards and stopping at the first, 'White seems fair,' the man concludes.
Just as he was about to ask her opinion, the woman who was also flipping along, shows her husband the last page.
"Red seems fine. Not too flashy for me is it dear?" she asks excitedly, with her smile on.
"Of course not, it fits you perfectly." he quickly replies and checks the time on his wristwatch. The sunlight slashes through a crack in the corner but still he manages to read the time out, approximately, 2:57.
"Yeobo, we’re running late for your appointment at 3:30. It's almost 3 o'clock, so why don't we leave the rest to my secretary here. I'm sure your back should hurt for having to sit here for so long."
"I’m okay honey, though I was getting a bit hot here with the sun shining down on my face, phew, good that I had sunscreen on. Let's get going. Oh, I can't wait to roll on these wheels." she chimed, setting the catalogue down on her lap.
The husband goes over to her wife and carefully leans down to whisper into her ear, "Darling, please don't forget to check the red dot between your teeth, later on when you have the time." He talks in a soft way, not to hurt her feelings.
His wife, surprised, takes out her phone and checks her reflection. Indeed there it is, a red fleck of minced red pepper stuck in a crack between her two front teeth. 'It must have gotten their earlier when the two of us had kimchi-jjigae, and all along I've been smiling in front of these two young men.' For a second, she looks thoroughly embarrassed.
Her face remains slightly pink as the man wheels her towards the exit. He leaves her for a moment, while he pushes open the door. And then suddenly, she bursts into laughter, a laugh so hard that made her wheelchair jingle. The man watches her face fade in with the shade of the jumper she had been wearing, realizing that her favorite color had always been red since the accident.
Calming down she lays her eyes once again on the last page of the catalogue; a red compact car designed for the disabled, awaits.
"I can do this myself now dear." she announces, as she rolls herself outside into the sunshine, her smile wider than before. With a considered grip the man let go of the handles, stepping forward, begins to fold his sleeves with a quiet smile. The stain had dried and faded away. Its once irritating red, safely returned to its original white, as if it was bleached: bleached in the sun.
“But my wife..."
Behind two black sedans and a glass show window a woman in a hiking suit stares across the table (with steel legs looking as fragile as the woman’s crossed fingers) at a man who seems to be her husband. The man is fully dressed in a suit; formally, his attire resembles that of a mannequin, flawless, but a drop of kimchi stain on his left sleeve. The sun chose to shine on the man's already gleaming shirt, a trembling pearl, and the cut edge smiles of the two salesmen, while one of them politely interrupts-
"Oh, Mr. Chu, surely that is no problem, luckily our brand has just the right vehicle for a madam in such condition. Would you care to take a look at this catalogue?"
As the two men take turns explaining the features of the automobile to be sold, the man's fingers reach for a cup of water, slowly; his eyes catch a glimpse of red on his sleeve, while the white paper cup is delivered to his lips. Right after taking a decent sip he diligently dampens the tip of a handkerchief pulled out from his right pants pocket. The woman watches her husband rub the stain with quick short strokes. 'Clumsy old man,' a thought goes by. She shifts herself, slightly, in her seat to ease the back pain.
"Yes, yes, that sounds fine. Very convenient, don't you think so, yeobo?” he asks, checking the dot on his sleeve which now, to his previous effort, has a slightly faded to orange.
"Of course, I do but really all I care about is the color, honey." she states as the woman shows her once brilliant smile, the smile which her husband used to call 'fit enough for a dental commercial', the smile that brought each other to fall into what some call 'love at first sight'. That was twenty some years ago.
For some reason, the man is suddenly perplexed. He does not frown but looks down at the catalogue which displays the same model in a variety of shades. 'Red, negative.' starting from the last page, he continues to flip backwards and stopping at the first, 'White seems fair,' the man concludes.
Just as he was about to ask her opinion, the woman who was also flipping along, shows her husband the last page.
"Red seems fine. Not too flashy for me is it dear?" she asks excitedly, with her smile on.
"Of course not, it fits you perfectly." he quickly replies and checks the time on his wristwatch. The sunlight slashes through a crack in the corner but still he manages to read the time out, approximately, 2:57.
"Yeobo, we’re running late for your appointment at 3:30. It's almost 3 o'clock, so why don't we leave the rest to my secretary here. I'm sure your back should hurt for having to sit here for so long."
"I’m okay honey, though I was getting a bit hot here with the sun shining down on my face, phew, good that I had sunscreen on. Let's get going. Oh, I can't wait to roll on these wheels." she chimed, setting the catalogue down on her lap.
The husband goes over to her wife and carefully leans down to whisper into her ear, "Darling, please don't forget to check the red dot between your teeth, later on when you have the time." He talks in a soft way, not to hurt her feelings.
His wife, surprised, takes out her phone and checks her reflection. Indeed there it is, a red fleck of minced red pepper stuck in a crack between her two front teeth. 'It must have gotten their earlier when the two of us had kimchi-jjigae, and all along I've been smiling in front of these two young men.' For a second, she looks thoroughly embarrassed.
Her face remains slightly pink as the man wheels her towards the exit. He leaves her for a moment, while he pushes open the door. And then suddenly, she bursts into laughter, a laugh so hard that made her wheelchair jingle. The man watches her face fade in with the shade of the jumper she had been wearing, realizing that her favorite color had always been red since the accident.
Calming down she lays her eyes once again on the last page of the catalogue; a red compact car designed for the disabled, awaits.
"I can do this myself now dear." she announces, as she rolls herself outside into the sunshine, her smile wider than before. With a considered grip the man let go of the handles, stepping forward, begins to fold his sleeves with a quiet smile. The stain had dried and faded away. Its once irritating red, safely returned to its original white, as if it was bleached: bleached in the sun.
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