Description

Preface
Cleavage Climate
Each river has its own metaphorical stream,
Each year comes with dignity and disappointment
in different levels and expectations, flies and cries,
band without end.
Is that my hope? Perhaps not to the limit of my dream.
It may be the subtle promise of time. Arguably I
sleep in my thinking
I didn’t know anything was either for my enemy or
for me.

But with the fast pace of time, I have to make that
impossible possible, it doesn’t bother me.
I wasn’t defeated instead stopped on my way alone

The path was wide open right in front of me, which
needed a careful opening of my eyes. I did not turn
any phase of opportunity waiting for me at the
doorsteps, tears did not slip like an unloved flower.
I embraced hundred of miles wanderer, looking ahead
to see what’s in the gavel of time, what’s the master
plan on what I have for me

Rather than spend the nightlong crying, a burning
heart learned to walk shoulder to shoulder with
the night, I wrote numerous English poems in the
year 1999, Wherever I saved them, they were not
safe, Someone stealing. My life got stolen, and I
took shelter in a Hotmail account, one crucial day
I discovered, my account has disappeared. All the
poems have vanished from the Hotmail account,
and the account itself was hacked. The only poem