Childhood of a Voice
The light oppresses and the darkness frees
a man like me, who never cared at all:
Imagine it, the childhood of a voice
and voice of childhood telling me my name.
But if only the rain would fall,
and the sky we have not seen so long
come blue again.
The familiar white street
is tired of always running east.
The sky, of always arching over.
The tree, of always reaching up.
Even the round earth is tired of being round
and spinning round the sun.
- Martin Carter
found this poem when i was reading through poems deep and dangerous. the book brought back so many memories of nanyang!
im tired of slacking cum mugging. slacking makes me guilty, mugging is miserable. don't want to regret not trying my best, yet it's just so hard to get down to really putting in my best effort. shall just keep in mind that it's just blocks! no kick! heheh :) everyone jia you!
im glad im not the earth. imagine spinning around the sun forever! phew, at least there's an end to studying.
