spring: a collection of poems
WRITTEN BY JANE LE AND JUEHUI LAW
CONTENT WARNING: This article contains implications of suicide, specifically the very last poem. We do not recommend you reading the article if you are not comfortable with such topic or you are under the age of 15 as it could trigger negative emotions.
luckily, it is spring now.
one with lots of resentment,
lives some seasons
a little longer than others .
a rainy spring day
the words I wished to say
but letters not akin to rain
shower can wash away the pain
dark blue and light grey
recollections drain away
drowning in shallowness
let the wet day do the rest.
the spring breeze rises,
it is the season we love
before the lovers realise
blossoms bloomed, petals fall.
my words are like rivers -
they had fallen into you
with the help of spring.
breeze dyed the water blue.
spring morning came before we realised.
birds singing all around,
rain comes and goes during the night
sewing the natures gown.
a gentle sigh from the sunset
a gentle sigh from us -
a new season has approached.
the colour of the wind.
it is the light blue of the freshly dried sheets,
the little barefoot under the blind.
laughter overruns the streets,
albums of photos.
they were the stories we left behind.
the colour of the wind did not fade,
spring brought everything back again.
the spring night
in tarnished window frames, peacefully,
a spray of flowers, peach coloured blossoms.
fainting from the moonlight,
the garden earths a beauty spot.
on the ceiling, a yellow tint,
streetlights leak through the seamless cracks.
the small birds’ songs is inaudible,
the sky tonight is a pale indigo.
a sprawling, flat sky
along the sidewalks and in the puddles,
it melts away the beautiful, various dreams.
i was wandering in the spring,
in the ground of crystal dew.
the sun shifted closer to the equator;
i stepped closer to you.
spring is the dream in winter.
between me and you, flowers bloomed.
spring has been awaken
and my dream is you.
my year only has two seasons:
the months in which we are together
and the months I am alone.
although, I’m never truly alone.
always preoccupied,
just to pass the time.
because when I’m alone,
all I do is anticipate,
for my favourite season
to greet me once again.
they say, “spring will come again.”
and yet, I remain cold
these seasons blend into another,
the calendar changes its papers.
you remain far away
but, your shadow stayed around
from last winter until now.
I feel too much.
my brain is swarmed with discontent,
seemingly silent, but still unbent.
I don’t want to die.
I so desperately want to survive
but I feel too much.
I feel the vivid reds and blues
of this spring day,
yet, I am left without a single hue.
we live to love
but love to hate.
the weather is hot
yet too cold for rain.
I hold in my hand
an insincere cry
where the days passsed
like old fantasies of mine.
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