to the elegant daughter of asia #hbdsunny!
you see, i don’t think i ever believed in glass slippered- fate or the kind of things in those movies. (are we destined for the stars? or just dumb dumb kids in a movie?). and I wandered across the water lillies one day, nestled amongst a koi pond. a skip-step just a little more, and so it begins. a friendship for the ages. scattered dissonance leading into experimental prose.
rhyme, rhythm and meter some more- will i come to pity what might have been? i see no red red strings, but this- o look! o yell and scream and shout! the king’s page unfurls a scroll to the square, all gathered in their autumn finery: “come one, come all! to see, to feel, to hear these glorious wedding bells ring!”
but i see it finally, a red silken string, entwining itself around six girls, encased in ivory bells all through these teenage fieryness. because if america ever dares to spit on you again, if lady liberty raises her oil-stained fingers through new york city’s dust and haze-filled freeze frames, we shall be there. faster than the morning sun spreads her wings, swifter than the flap of every bald eagles’ wing making their descent into a late spring mid-afternoon. see, these 3 am epiphanies moulded into driving shutter-shields stun a supernovae across the earth, infinity like us shattering the glass. this feels like someday, and god knows we’ve lived long enough to see it.
inbuilt connections across rubber-tinged subcontinents, a triple threat of allusions and shared beliefs. our lace is a weapon, wrapped up in humour with a side of bluntness, this courage permanent in meshed adhesive. actually, her name is, (jade, nhu-ngoc) forever a jewel of this land of gloried fishermen and island escapades.
and honesty will pierce her tongue like rotting roadkill underneath glaring refrigerator lights, and here lies a sucrose luxury. seraphims and sugar fantasies, a blinking contrast. a multiversed memory, here you will hand an ode to aquarian lovers to her mistress.
mediterranean glides across the gulf’s twists and turns of every coming of age splattered across an engorged whirlpool. if love breaks skin, allow it.
a soliloquoy, a silent confession. introspection out of a computer screen. falling apart through paragraphs of poetic inconsistencies, she lands on her feet. (she always does, after all.)