Once upon a time

So tell me once more, who can I trust
In this bright futuristic fable that you've told me only last night? 
No one remains the same on the planet's crust. 
In this world, I can no longer trust my sight
In the middle of this dark arena of misfortunes. The
Time doesn't stop spinning. It offers the deceiving shelter. 
Nowadays even the mosquitoes dare to annoy the
Right index finger that blames and pulls the angry trigger. 
Insomniacs, lurking about around the corners of the busy
Streets. They are wishing, hoping, parying, crying to wake up. 
The people, all seventeen and crazy, shouted, 
'Let me wake up!'

Nothing is illuminated naturally. 
The city is coloured by the artificial
Lights. Beats, too fast and delirious, are pounding furiously
In every urban beast. Colourful and superficial
Lives, without much pain, scream
As they step on other people's spines. Climbing
Desperatly in the desert to escape a common harzardous dream. 
Cold hearts armed and equipped with sharp edges, with ease, slicing
Cuts and wounds
Like broken glass. 
The swollen eyes that cry for the tomb
Beside the wild, easily swayed blades of grass.

They cry for the end. 
So tell me, what time is it? 
It is the time when the stories bend
And the fairytales ceased to exist. 
The crystal is lost, and the people are poor. 
We can see everyday in the demented mirror
How our lips crack of thirst, but the door
Is locked, and we cannot escape from the nightmare. 
Something is dangerously wrong. 
Justice is minimised to the size of half a bed time story. 
Criminals with expensive suits are able to use their tongues
To twist the words. With power, truth is shaded with glory.

Religion, the opium of the mind, 
No longer soothes the agony. 
The blind
Sees everything from his safe balcony
Afar. Tormented ones have to walk again and again, 
With a thousand mistakes, each carrying a burden, walking again
Yet refuse to learn, so they walk through all over again
And again. 
The injury, like a reminder, 
Reminds me day and night of the rainy past
And many accumulated failures. The harbour
Promises protection, but refuses to show me the right path.

So I
Go to sleep thinking about how fragile
The world is. My eyes
Are tired. They are too frightened to open. Pale
Faces are everywhere
In pieces. They are shattered
To fragments, and no one cares
To restore. Beaten and battered. 
People leave each other outside in the storm. 
I pull over the thin blanket and seek refuge beneath. 
This place is not warm, 
And the cold radiates like a disease.

Dale Chou
1999-07-07