The Naïve Girl
星期二 十一月 11, 2008 10:25 am
On her fifteenth birthday,
she tiptoed along a meandering stream,
hands cupping cold fireflies.
Her glass bottle glowed with blue light,
and twinkling wishes
she refused to unveil.
A neighborhood boy had a crush on her,
his first kiss ended by a sharp slap.
Blushing, she slammed the door shut.
It is hard to mirror years later, a tiresome woman
sitting by the window, eyebrows frown,
hands covered her coffer, sleepless.
Or a frustrated housewife,
running up and down,
voice thundering over daily chaos.
Her white lilies wind-dried
and her whispers too.
Some collected and framed by golden wood,
hung on the pale walls, high;
Others like shadows,
came along with snow, blizzard,
vanished in the silent desert.
Yet from time to time,
she stopped to ponder,
caressing her empty glass bottle,
regardless of
shadow on the wall -
Smiling.
--old--
Those photos enlarged,
framed with golden wood,
hang on the pale walls, high.
Faces brimming with bold smiles,
eyes brown and bright,
pose a young carefree girl
dancing through sparkling rains.
It is hard to mirror a tiresome woman
sitting by a window, eyebrows frown,
hands wrinkled like autumn leaves.
Or a frustrated housewife,
running up and down,
voice raised over daily chaos
as thunders through dark clouds.
Or many other cold shadows,
come along with snowing,
blizzard, finally drained on
a vast desert,
dry.
Yet from time to time,
she stops to ponder on
her photographic moments,
regardless of night
shadow on the wall -
Smiling.