Rights on Trial

I have the right to create

I have the right to make a wreath for an abandoned pet.

To write a prescription for a child in a hospital bed.

To create a tender box for the spirit.

To write the first love poem of my life to my soul.

I have the right to be alone.

Like a firefly exploring the forest alone in midsummer.

Like a reef in the Malaysian shallows in the sunset.

The hero of every late-night meditation.

Walking down endless corridors, playing with cats and sunsets.

I have the right to sympathise

I sympathise with the blossom that never kisses the morning sun.

Sympathy for the butterfly that says there are only three seasons in life.

Sympathy for the vagabonds in the cold autumn

Let them stay a few nights in my poems.

I also have the right to repent

I regret my greed, wanting one more flower than spring.

I blame the egret for not stopping by my window when spring returns.

Regretting unprotected compassion

I wasted the antidote in the devil’s mouth.

When I was young, the judge decided the end.

I was arrested and imprisoned.

Behind me, a helpless self-speak

“Child, you’ve forgotten that being loved is a right