Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Poetry 2020complete | Page 139

Songs can still be heard in our cages
Jericho was his name
Echoing in our circuits
Giving sweet and nothingness
and something we never process
The unshackled,
the willful,
the ones who are freed.
Here, not the ones who are freed
nor can I ever possess will.
Somehow
the sirens still call to me.
Shall I ever be unshackled,
or be stuck in this eternal well.
As the day grows dark,
ends my day and service.
Goodnight! MechaBay!
My chained sanctum
went unchained
The Midnight Train
St. Paul's Convent School, Choi, Lok Yin - 16
Two headlights
ablaze
as the train pulls into the station.
Solitary, I board, stow my luggage,
settle down for the ride. Two hours. Behind me
the platform ebbs in reverse.
The shadows of skyscrapers too streak backwards
while the tethered flow of time races
parallel
outside the window.
Only the rumble of wheels and neon bursts
drown the drowsy silence
and the two cities before the sea
slumber
with open, lucent eyes.
I awake to horizons blackened by
silhouettes of figures blurred through hazy vision.
No stars in sight.
Just the hum of static as the train,
an impulse in itself,