all haiku poems

are really death poetry

basho oncet wrote

Who would I become

A teacher or a writer

I've become myself.

Big Bro showed future

with free and wealth. He promise

Only for himself

We are two millions

shouting with fear and anger

for Hong Kong last stand

history is made

a nation lifted above

destiny awaits

Life's become a race

Can't someone lower the pace

Stillness of the yore.

groomed to search for love

feeling alone forever

that's how we are raised

Wish it was not so

Life is an arduous way

Hard to tread alone

In isolation,

only the beckoning grave

remembers my name.

Faith weaves, when in bloom

Bold red, it binds promises

Patience, the reward