The Web

Two women guarded the door,
Knitting black wool feverishly.
One of them casted me,
A swift and indifferent placidity look.
I was knitted into a web,
An impenetrable and dense web.

I wrote the capital ‘I’ on a board,
Hanged in front of my chest.
Then I took it down,
And put it around someone else’s neck.
Where was I?
Lost in a web.
The string of the web twisted like a black serpent,
Twining my neck.
Yet I realized that,
It was my left hand,
Clutching my neck.

Buildings were melting.

They were grit and gristle turned crystal.
Language, the building block,
Was fluid and greasy.
Buddha preached that,
Form was emptiness,
And emptiness was form.
Time ran backwards,
With the same drama went on.
An invisible web covered the world.
We were weaved together,
Pulled by puppet strings of the web.

‘No one could understand me’,

Wrote a pinched face girl on her webpage,
A close family friend.
Yet before fifteen,
She was plump and full of sunshine.
My cousin,
A skinny boy a year older than me,
In our family nightly chat,
Once asked me,
If I felt lonely as he did sometimes.
He crouched in my bed, as I sat by the bed side.

I mocked them

There was no loneliness,

No knowledge,
Nothing,
But a web,
That caught us,
Who took the toil,
Flipping all our lives in it.

By Amy LIU