Winter’s Last Bites on the Lomond

On By MeiLingIn Free verse, PoetryLeave a comment

The Lomond hauds its cauldness tight,
Wi’ winter’s teeth still sharp in bite.
The wind comes skirlin’ ower the brae,
As if it cannae let the day.

Yet hints o’ thaw begin tae creep,
Like whispers wakin’ frae a sleep.
The loch glints pale in fadin’ frost—
Winter still bites, but soon is lost.

The snaw lies thin on moss and stane,
A ghost o’ winter’s auld refrain.
Yet through the chill a promise brews—
A softer licht begins tae ruse.

And sae the Lomond, cauld yet fair,
Lets winter fade intae the air.

花燈未問價

On By MeiLingIn Free verse, PoetryLeave a comment

花燈未點，我已坐定，
笑唔多，剛好夠人猜。

杯酒未斟滿，
你已問價——
我只問：
邊樣嘢先最貴？

係唇？
定係唇邊嗰句未講嘅話。

係袖裡香？
定係香未近身嗰一寸風。

世人話青樓係門，
推開就入。
佢哋唔知——
門其實係霧。

你行一步，
霧退一步；
你想見我，
先要見到自己。

我學笑，唔係為討好，
係為留白。
棋盤要空，
棋先有路。

有人以為買到夜，
有人以為贏到心。
我只係輕輕轉扇：

若真係懂，
你連銀兩都唔會掏。

燈終於亮。
花影落杯。

而我仲未講——
今晚，
究竟邊個
係客。
—或係主。

The lantern is not yet lit,
yet I have taken my seat.
I do not smile much—
only enough
to leave a question.

The wine is not yet poured
and already you ask the price.
But tell me first—
what thing here
is truly costly?

The lips?
Or the sentence resting beside them.

The fragrance in the sleeve?
Or the inch of air
before it reaches you.

They say a pleasure house
is only a door—
push, and you enter.

They do not know
the door is mist.

You step forward,
the mist steps back.
To find me
you must first find yourself.

I learned to smile
not to please—
but to leave space.
A chessboard must be empty
for the game to begin.

Some men think they buy the night.
Some think they win the heart.
I only turn my fan and say:

If you truly understood,
you would not reach for silver.

At last the lantern burns.
Flower shadows fall into the cup.

And still I have not said
who tonight
is the guest—
or the host.

Exile Road

On By MeiLingIn Poetry, SonnetLeave a comment

Life is an exile—so the old words claim,
A quiet truth that lingers in the bone.
We walk through cities never quite the same,
As if the earth remembers we’re not home.

The road ahead is lit by restless skies,
Yet every step feels older than our years.
Somewhere a vanished doorway softly lies,
Half-built of memory, half-shaped of tears.

But home is not the road that leads behind,
No simple path returning where we stood.
The past is smoke the wandering winds unwind,
A ghost of what we thought we understood.

So still I walk, composed beneath the dome—
An exile learning how to carry home

The Reiver Lass o Liddesdale

On By MeiLingIn Free verse, PoetryLeave a comment

The win blaws sair ower Liddesdale,
The lift hangs laigh an grey,
But there rides a lass wi steel-bricht een
At the skreigh o break o day.

Her mantle’s black as corbie wing,
Her mare’s a nicht-dark gale;
The wardens curse her ridin name
Frae Bewcastle tae Teviotdale.

Ride, ride, ye reiver lass,
Through haar an hunter’s mune;
Nae yett nor yaird can haud ye fast,
Nae fetter bide ye dune.

She was a laird’s ain dochter ance
By the peel abuin the burn,
Till Southron spears cam skelpin in
An the haill place gaed tae urn.

Her faither lay by the reekit wa’s,
Her mither cauld as stane;
That nicht she swore by steel an star
She’d ne’er ride meek again.

Ride, ride, ye reiver lass,
Through haar an hunter’s mune;
Nae yett nor yaird can haud ye fast,
Nae fetter bide ye dune.

She kens ilk pass o Carter Fell,
Ilk slack an heather brae;
Her whinger’s quick, her bridle licht
When the black kye lift an stray.

Yet aye she’ll bield the puir man’s cot,
An share the reivin fee—
For hunger learns a blade its wark,
But grief gars mercy be.

Ride, ride, ye reiver lass,
Through haar an hunter’s mune;
Nae yett nor yaird can haud ye fast,
Nae fetter bide ye dune.

Ae gloamin nicht the wardens rade
Wi fifty spear an mail;
They thocht tae snare the reiver witch
Somewhere by Deadwater Hail.

But swifter still her bonnie mare
Across the mosses flew—
An whaur the peat reek drifts at dawn
Nae mortal kens her noo.

Ride, ride, ye reiver lass,
Through haar an hunter’s mune;
Nae yett nor yaird can haud ye fast,
Nae fetter bide ye dune.

月色之間

On By MeiLingIn Free verse, My roomsLeave a comment

夜靜，窗邊有月，
兩個女人坐得好近。

你手指輕輕掂我手背，
好似試水嘅風，
未急，未問。

我望住你，
你眼入面有光，
唔係火，
係慢慢暖起嘅燈。

我哋靠近——
唔需要說話。

呼吸對住呼吸，
額頭輕輕貼住。

外面月光入房，
白到似水。

而我哋之間，
有一種靜靜嘅甜，
好似花夜晚先開。

Night is quiet, the moon at the window.
Two women sit close together.

Your fingers brush the back of my hand,
like wind testing water—
not hurried, not asking.

I look at you.
There is light in your eyes,
not flame,
but a lamp slowly warming.

We lean closer—
no need for words.

Breath meeting breath,
foreheads touching softly.

Moonlight slips into the room,
pale as water.

And between us
a quiet sweetness grows,
like flowers
that open only at night.

紫荊不跪

On By MeiLingIn Free verse, Poetry1 Comment

城春未暖，
石屎縫裡你先開。

紫荊花，
唔問風向，
只記得海。

維港霧重，
山影沉沉，
你照樣舉起
五瓣火。

有人話城市要靜，
要低頭，
要學石頭咁唔出聲。

但你——
喺政府山邊、
喺舊街角、
喺學校門口，

每年都開。

開到好似一句：
「我哋仲喺度。」

風嚟，
花會落。

但樹未跪。

Spring in the city
is never gentle.

Between concrete seams
you bloom first.

Hong Kong orchid tree—
not asking which way
the wind leans,
only remembering
the sea.

Harbour fog thickens,
the hills keep their silence,
yet you lift
five petals of flame.

They say a city must be quiet,
must bow its head,
must learn the patience
of stone.

But you—
on government slopes,
at old street corners,
outside the school gates—

return each year.

Blooming like a sentence:
We are still here.

The wind will come.
Petals will fall.

But the tree
does not kneel.

霧門未鎖

On By MeiLingIn Free verse, PoetryLeave a comment

你話我句裡藏火，
問邊一盞為你燃。
我只笑——
燈多半係風點，
未必為人。

袖裡香深，
你當係召？
錯。
香若太近，
人便忘路。

你半步試我，
我半步退。
唔係怕輸，
係怕你未識
點樣贏。

水面月影搖，
你話係心。
我話唔係——
只係雲行太慢，
令光誤會自己。

你問魚點解顫？
因為水靜。
靜到連慾念
都聽得見。

若我肯靠近，
花會開多一寸；
若我轉身走，
春亦可以停。

所以唔好太急
解我笑。
笑若被你讀盡，
我便無興。

等你真係識停，
識喺門前
聽風一夜——

先會知道
點解我眼裡
一直有火，

但手上
冇鎖。

You say there is fire in my lines
and ask which lamp burns for you.
I only smile—
most lamps are lit by wind,
not for a person.

Fragrance deep in the sleeve—
you take it for a summons.
Wrong.
When scent comes too near,
one forgets the road.

You test me with half a step;
I answer with half a step back.
Not from fear of losing—
but because you have not yet learned
how victory is kept.

Moonlight trembles on water.
You call it a heart.
I say no—
only clouds moving too slowly,
making light mistake itself.

You ask why the fish shivers.
Because the water is still.
So still
even desire
can be heard.

If I lean closer,
the flower may open an inch more.
If I turn and leave,
spring itself can stop.

So do not hurry
to solve my smile.
If you read it entirely,
I will lose interest.

Wait until you learn to pause—
to stand at the door
and listen to the wind a whole night.

Then you will know
why there is always fire in my eyes
yet no lock
in my hands.