Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Poetry 2018 | Page 24

I take out my stationary
That took three months to earn.
And slowly
I begin to write
A letter to the west.
To the girl who
Soaked up my tears
And shined like my sun.
But could also disappear behind clouds
And flood my heart.
PART TWO
The comb is thrust
Against my hair.
Daadee Ma
Dusts
Gaudy powders
And gunk
On my face.
I see
The lines of age
That wrinkle
Around
Her sarpech.
Daadee Ma
Places my
Silver shinka
On my forehead.
I won’t do this,
I warn.
Daadee Ma cups my face
With her wrinkled hands.
Do you know how much we need this, Priy?
Reluctantly, I nod.
I know.
I know how desperate Maan is to get out of this shoddy bungalow.
I know how she wishes to feel rich.
I look around
At our tiny room.
A jhompadee
The girls at the Temple
Used to call it.
Shack.
For a moment, I see.
And it’s almost like I wish
To live in a palace.
But then I remember.
I have to marry
Someone
I don’t know?
Someone
I don’t care about?
Someone
I don’t love?
This world
Is full of flaws.
Soon,
I will belong to someone
All for the sake