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Where is the last path on this map?
Where does it leads?
The end or
the beginning of endlessness?
I'm exhausted cramming
every escape route that leads out
of this chink - a house without home -
such is a life without laughter.
The fleshes of the
tortoiseshell-skinned beads
of my rosary are now
smoothened by workload:
I've been praying for water
to swim me outta this chink,
But I don't know which of its body to hit
for the water to penetrate through.
Life without laughter
is a lantern without fire;
Fire is not all bad,
it breathes light into lamps.
But life without laughter
is a fire sinking into itself,
Digging deep
into
water,
war,
wilderness;
collapsing treasures into ashes.
And when we started learning
how to shape our lips into laughter,
We have to start learning
how to stitch our skins
back into the future,
scar by scar;
For life without laughter
Is a body
wearing inferno under its skin.
But we ought to have been laughing
while the fire blazes;
Because laughter is water,
To laugh is to drink and
drown one's skin into a rill –
playing love-lore to a dancing flower –
fallen by windstorm.
And,
at last,
or at least,
water kills
wind heals;
And there would be
no injury,
no wound,
no scar.
