Like a Chinese coolie laboring in a foreign mine, I try hard to dig out those English words that resonate with my thoughts of home and pent-up emotions on a moonless night. Most of the time I don’t get any pleasure from writing, apart from those fleeting moments when I extract gold from the sands of a river that winds through this land of ghostly memories.
writing done
I open the window
I open the window
to smell the sunshine
Kokako, 29, 2018
