"An Inner Peace"
[ Not based on actual events.]
An inner peace
comes from the interior of the heart,
but i can't obtain this luxury
for i have forgotten the ways
to serenity and tranquility.
May God forgive me for all my sins.
all the dark secrets that chain me
and blind me from the light of truth.
i have sinned since the young ripe age of
ten and for the years that followed
i had become a shadow within myself.
i was wrong, i was bad and i shall die
but not before my punishment.
the depths of hell will swallow me
and then spit me out
because i'm not worth it.
Oh God, i didn't want to
but HE made me do it
HE, the one who brought me into the evil world
and made me ashamed to be me.
why did it have to be me?
why didn't you save me
from HIS sharp claws that ripped
my wHoLe life apart?
An inner peace, God
that's what my restless heart searches for.
shouldn't HE be punished and shouldn't HE suffer?
every time i pray, you shut the door.
at poker HE was always a good bluffer,
but don't believe HIM
'cause i'm not the only one with the Sins!
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"The Portrait"
[ In loving memory of my parents.]
It's the year 1974, I see them
standing in line waiting to get their picture taken
My mother dressed from head to toe
in pure virgin innocent snowy whiteness
her dress being simple, yet pretty
her jet black hair showing from under the head gear
perched delicately on her head
not a rip nor wrinkle on the soft chiffon material that
flows to the floor like a waterfall.
Earrings dangle from my mother's fragile ears
a blur of small flashes of color
bounce off her earrings
due to exposure to the bright beams of light
emanating from the lamps.
"Is it diamonds or cubic zirconia?"
"We don't have money to afford diamonds."
Around her neck hangs a 24K gold chain
with a jade pendant hanging from it.
"Where did you get that?"
"I got it from your father's mother."
My father standing tall next to my mother
dressed in a blue-grey suit
hair parted on the left side
every strand in place all the way down to his sideburns
his tie, the colors of the American flag
but not the same arrangement
a fake red flower pinned to his suit
on the left-breast pocket
his shirt a crisp white
a slight hint of a mustache
pushing through the surface of his skin
right above his upper lip.
Both have flawless skin
my mother having a more creamy white complexion
contrasted with the slightly bronze skin of my father.
The photographer gestures to them
my mother and father stand opposite the camera
on a tripod, it looks like a deformed spider
brown paneling on the walls behind them
seem so ordinary and too plain
compared to the outfits my parents adorn.
The photographer's hand poised above the button
about to depress it when I ran in front of the camera
"STOP!"
My parents look towards me with imploring eyes
while the photographer grunts in anger
at the disruption of his masterpiece.
"What is it?" they asked.
"Are you sure you want to do this? Life will be hard."
"Yes. We love each other
and whatever lies ahead, we'll handle together." they answered.
"But, what if ..."
They shoo me off to the side,
standing next to a bench
I feel like a tree
quiet, lifeless, rooted to the spot I'm in.
The photographer gives it one more try
my mother brings her lips apart
showing some teeth in a lovely smile
my father standing next to her
not smiling nor frowning
1-2-3
a flash of light escapes from the light bulb.
The moment has been captured,
frozen for a memory of this time
for years to come
all on one piece of smooth paper.
"Come back tomorrow for the prints. Next!"
My mother and father move from the position
coming towards me
hand in hand.
A tear rolls down my right cheek,
I'm so happy for them.
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"S41" [Based on
actual experience.]
Long halls and many floors
people bustling in and out
through the front doors
never minding other people's business
except for their own.
People walking around
most of them expressionless
which makes me wonder
what they're pondering
'cause no one wears their heart on their sleeve.
As I approach the information desk
I see people waiting impatiently
on a line
while others sit on cushioned seats
waiting for two o'clock to roll around.
Two cops are seated near
the elevators
checking people's visitors' passes
treating them like foreigners
coming to the U.S. for the first time.
The second hand crawls up to the 12
the other stationary on 2
then the bum rush starts
I and others swim
towards the elevators.
I get off
on number 15
look both ways
before heading down
the south wing.
The nurses' station on my left
no one inside it
but my gosh
it's already past lunch hour.
Where is everyone?
Two doors down
is the nourishment center
complete with ice machine, sink,
freezer for storing food
whatever else is needed also.
I stop at S41
my heart leaps up
into my throat
as I summon up courage
to walk into the room.
My father in bed
fussing with the remote control
to elevate the Craft-matic bed
while trying to avoid tugging the IVs
stuck in both arms.
I give him a hug
blink back the tears
forming in my eyes
and look at the sacs
of NaCl mixed with H2O hanging on IV stands.
We talk and share a joke or two
while my father picks
at his steamed vegetables and steamed beef
but the coffee is digestible
he offers me his mashed potatoes.
The room seems lonely and empty
with the other beds unoccupied
my father complains about being treated
like a laboratory rat
stuck with sharp needles daily.
I go to wash my hands at the sink
to discover the knobs
are replaced by pedals
under the sink
feels like driving, only safer.
The bathroom is huge
about 5 or 6 people can fit into it at one time
but there's only substitute toilet paper
so coarse and rough
it can make your ass bleed when you wipe.
A black telephone with a rotary dial
sits patiently on a table
by my father's bed
waiting for a call to come in
so it can be used.
I look into the closet
half-empty, only with my father's jacket,
cap, boots, and the clothes
he arrived in
no other signs of the desire to stay here.
The hours fly by
time to leave
I kiss my father good-bye
pray to god
that he can come home soon.
I leave S41
patients roaming the halls
all looking the same
with their fashionable blue rags
still no one in the nurses' station.
I descend to the lobby
hand in my bilingual visitor's pass
walk down the corridor
past the rec room, gift shop, coffee shop
and out the doors I came from.
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"A Phrase"
[Dedicated to all the women stuck in hurtful relationships.]
I have something to tell you
now, not later
today, not tomorrow
here, not at school
No, I don’t want to see a movie.
I have something to tell you
about me and you, not them
about promises, not regrets
about love, not sex
No, I don’t want to kiss.
I have something to tell you
something big, not small
important, not trivial
serious, not humorous
No, I don’t want to hear a joke.
I have something to tell you
but how can I when you won’t listen?
you’re wasting both of our time by avoiding me
so just hear me out
No, I don’t want to drink tea.
I have something to tell you
about the time I saw you with another woman
I’ll say it once, not twice
so pay attention
No, I don’t want to smell your cologne.
I have something to tell you
involves no "forgive and forget"
no hate, more or less
---You hurt me and now I’m leaving you---
there, I said it.
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"Transfer"
[Based on actual experience and dedicated to all commuters.]
Taking the 6 train is a trip
ads pasted along the top
of the train
for the reading enjoyment of
those who'll read anything.
Blurry windows on each car
due to some infamous people
who bothered to leave their tag names
engraved there for all to see
and wonder who these people are.
Everyone engrossed in whatever
they're doing, hardly any conversation
only music drifting out of
a walkman. Someone reading
the events of the day
in a newspaper
another dozing off
with his head rocking
along with the vibration
of the subway.
One girl carries a
big brown paper bag
its contents are obscured
from the world.
Chewing motion of someone's mouth
is seen but not heard
by inquiring minds
that wonder what flavor gum it is.
So many people crowded
in groups near the doors
no one can get off
no one can get on
while the middle section
remains fairly empty
except for a few loners.
It's rush hour in the
afternoon when students
and some working men and women
try to reach their safe and humble abodes.
I got on at Astor Place
now getting off at 42nd Street ---- Grand Central
to transfer to the 7 train
another full-to-the-brim
means of public transportation
where almost everybody
wants to get home to Flushing.
The 7 train is different
from number 6
more old-fashioned
I believe
from the long row
of seats undifferentiated
to the kind of device
that people hold onto
to create balance on their feet
so as not to slam
into someone else
while the train is in motion
racing with the sun in the sky
who will get to the station first?
As the train makes
its journey homeward
towards the starting
and ending point "Main Street"
people walk off
people run on
people of all different
nationalities,
heights,
and skin color
make the number 7
an interesting place
to be.
The local goes slow
while the express zooms by
adding speed on
the closer it gets to home.
I get off at 103 Street ----- Corona Plaza
to go to work
at my parents' friend's liquor store,
almost getting lost in the flux
of people leaving the train
with me.
Good-bye 7 train,
farewell my friend.
You've brought me this far
that I can’t deny my gratitude for you.
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"Mon Amour Pour Toi"
[Written Feb. 12, 1998; Dedicated to P.C.]
My honey is sweet;
Sweeter than the sap that comes from maple trees
Tastes better than any chocolate bar any time of the year
Warms me up like a hot cup of cocoa on a cold winter day
And fills the space around me with air, so I can breathe
easier.
My honey makes the world go 'round;
Sending me spinning dizzily
Breathless from the love that takes my whole soul over
Making me feel as if I'm on a euphoric high
And laughing 'cause I'm happy, giddily
vibrant.
My honey makes my life more worthwhile;
Making me crack a smile even when I'm sad
From all of life's uncertainties
To every passing day's problems
One thing I know isn't a passing fad—
this love.
Love for my honey.
Honey, my love for you…
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"What It All Means
To Me" [Written Feb. 25, 1998;
Dedicated to P.C.]
You are the sun that I love to wake up to,
the moonlight that guides me when I'm lost,
my other conscience that helps me see right from wrong,
the one that makes me smile when I'm blue
or just happy to have you in my life.
Over the rocky road of life,
through the dark paths of the unknown,
day in and day out,
I think of you and how you make me strive
to improve myself and prepare for the future.
Every time you touch me,
every time you brush your lips against mine,
every time your hand holds mine,
I just feel so exhilarated and fancy-free
knowing that you're by my side.
Even after we part our ways for the night,
your breath lingers with me,
I smell your breath on my face even when you're not next to me,
and it just makes me want to hold you more tight
when we see each other the next time.
My love for you
flows like the endless sea.
My love for you
can bring blossoms to the trees.
All I have said here and all that is left unspoken,
tells you what it all means to me;
What you mean to me…
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© 2000-2003 Yung-pei Chen
This page was last modified December
31, 2003.
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