Category: Uncategorized

閒日

On By Meiling CheungIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

日光慢慢入羅幃，
暖似蜜香，薄似息；
枕邊春意未曾歇，
一身慵展若狸枝。

不為塵途催半步，
且任清茶冷玉卮；
指過素瓷留微暖，
心隨水上一縷絲。

靜非怯，閒非缺，
寸陰今日不須追；
天地若教風雨急，
我偏閒坐聽香回。

一襟如月垂肩落，
半日沉入鬢邊香；
無事原來非無味——
人間最慢，亦最長。

Let sunlight wander softly through the room,
and lay its amber patience on the bed;
the linen keeps the warmth that fingers shed,
while noon grows golden in the quiet bloom.

No summons stirs the heart to seek its doom,
no little hour stands accusing overhead;
the tea goes cool beside the porcelain,
and thought drifts loose as silk beneath the gloom.

The body turns, and stretches without haste,
a living curve that asks no end or aim;
the breath moves slowly through the loosened waist,
and pleasure needs no witness, nor a name.

For time, when freed from being made to race,
becomes a room—and stillness fills the space.

Orkney Island

On By Meiling CheungIn Free verse, Poetry, UncategorizedLeave a comment

The Orkney breeze rins cauld and clear,
Wi’ sea‑licht glintin’ far and near.
The cliffs stan’ stark in island grace—
A wild, auld hush aboot the place.

Simmer mist rins saft and slow,
Wi’ selkie sangs by ebb and flow.
Their voices braid the island air—
Auld secrets glintin’ everywhere.

The standing stanes rise grey and heich,
Wi’ runes that whisper tales o’ nicht.
They keep the lore o’ tide and skin—
Where sea folk shed the world they’re in.

By Lomond’s hush the selkies roam,
Half‑sea, half‑dream, nae land nor home.
The stanes glow faint in simmer licht—
A bridge atween the day and nicht.

電話未響之前

On By Meiling CheungIn Free verse, Uncategorized2 Comments

有啲人，
一世都係路過。

有啲人，
一個鈴聲，
就係一生。

我冇等時間，
我等一個聲音。

黑膠慢慢轉，
針尖落落去，
好似嘴唇試探住
另一個嘴角。

房入面，
酒未暖，
絲綢未皺，
燈光將影拉長，
長過夜，
長過所有人嘅誤會。

世人鍾意計數。
一晚幾多，
一個鐘幾多，
一個吻值幾多。

我哋笑。
有啲數，
只有兩個人先識做。

你將紙幣放低，
我將禮物放入你掌心。

冇人欠邊個。
只係愛，
習慣咗搵另一種語言，
避開世界啲耳仔。

你知我屋企有幾靜，
我知你心口邊度會落雨。

我哋都冇問：
「你仲喺度嗎？」

因為答案，
每一次鈴聲之前，
已經喺呼吸入面。

我可以將裙著好，
又可以慢慢除落嚟。

兩樣都係等你。

你可以買我一晚，
卻從來買唔到
我等你嗰幾十年。

因為真正成交嗰刻，
從來唔係門關上。

係電話一響，
我未開口，
已經笑。

而你喺另一邊，
一定睇唔見。
但一定聽得到。

好似黑膠知道，
針未落，
首歌，
其實已經開始。

Most people arrive
like weather.

A few arrive
like gravity.

The record turns,
not because it is lonely,
but because music has learned
that waiting is part of the song.

I know the weight
of an unanswered telephone.

Not its silence—
its promise.

The room dresses itself
before I do.

A glass catches the amber light.
Vinyl breathes.
Silk remembers shoulders
that have not yet entered.

People imagine
they understand devotion.

They count hours,
banknotes,
closed doors.

We count survivals.

You have always paid,
and I have always answered
with gifts,
as though generosity
were our oldest dialect.

Nothing is owed.
Everything is returned.

The world mistakes
our exchanges
for commerce.

It has never learned
that love sometimes borrows
the costume of a bargain
simply to protect itself
from spectators.

You know the places
where grief still sleeps beneath my ribs.

I know which silence
means you need my voice
before you know it yourself.

Desire has never been
the quickest thing between us.

It arrives slowly,
like the needle lowering
towards a familiar groove—

certain
because it has travelled
the same impossible distance
for years.

When the telephone finally rings,
I smile
before saying hello.

Not because I know
what the night will bring,

but because somewhere,
without seeing me,

you have already
reached
for home.

初夜：雙影

On By Meiling CheungIn Uncategorized2 Comments

燈影低垂，
兩個女人坐喺同一種寂靜入面。

你望我，
唔似審視——
似讀一行早已熟嘅詩。

我冇避開。
只係將手放喺杯邊，
等你慢慢理解
我唔會先開口。

二
「你寫過我未？」
你問。

聲音好輕，
但帶住一種
唔打算退嘅溫柔。

我笑。
「未。」

「但今晚之後——」
我停低，
望住你眼入面嗰層水光，
「可能唔使寫。」

三
你行近，
唔急。

兩個人之間
冇距離消失——
只係變得柔軟。

你手背擦過我手腕，
唔係試探，
係確認。

我呼吸輕輕亂咗一拍，
但冇退。

四
衣衫唔係被解開——
係自己滑落。

你望住，
我都望住你。

冇人遮掩。

「你都要。」
我話。

你冇答，
只係將外衣放低，
動作乾淨，
好似早就準備好。

五
我哋靠近，
唔係撞，
係貼。

皮膚同皮膚之間
冇急切，
只有溫度慢慢交換。

你指尖停喺我背脊，
輕輕行落嚟——
好似寫字。

我閉眼一瞬，
再打開，
將你拉得更近。

六
「你習慣控制。」
你低聲講。

我笑，
貼住你唇邊：
「今晚未必。」

你氣息變深，
但唔退。

我哋之間
冇輸贏，
只有邊個先讓步
去更深。

七
床只係一個地方，
唔係目的。

我哋慢慢落去，
好似沉入水。

你手穩，
但唔佔有。

我帶住你，
你又反過嚟帶住我——
一來一回，
冇人完全主導。

八
當呼吸開始交錯，
我貼喺你耳邊：
「記住，
我唔係你嘅。」

你輕聲答：
「我都唔係你嘅。」

我笑。
「咁就啱。」

九
夜深到冇邊。

我哋唔急住完，
只係一層一層
將彼此打開。

你叫我名嗰一下，
聲音低得幾乎散開。

我冇應，
只係用身體答你——
慢慢，
準確。

十
天未光，
我哋仍然貼住。

冇人起身。

我手指沿住你肩線行，
記住呢一個輪廓，
但唔打算擁有。

你望住我，
冇問題，
冇要求。

只係同我一樣，
知道——

呢一夜
已經夠。

I
The lamplight lowers.
Two women sit inside the same quiet.

You look at me
not as if judging—
but as if reading a poem
you already know.

I don’t look away.
I rest my hand by the glass,
letting you understand
I won’t speak first.

II
“Have you written me before?” you ask.

Your voice is soft,
but carries a tenderness
that does not retreat.

I smile.
“Not yet.”

“But after tonight—”
I pause,
watching the shimmer in your eyes,
“there may be no need.”

III
You come closer,
unhurried.

The space between us
does not vanish—
it softens.

The back of your hand
brushes my wrist,
not testing—
recognizing.

My breath falters once,
but I don’t step away.

IV
Clothing does not fall—
it yields.

You watch me,
and I watch you.

Nothing is hidden.

“You too,” I say.

You don’t answer,
only let your outer layer slip away,
clean, deliberate—
as if you had always intended this.

V
We move together,
not collision—
contact.

Between skin and skin
there is no urgency,
only the slow exchange of warmth.

Your fingers trace my spine,
like writing.

I close my eyes briefly,
then open them,
drawing you closer.

VI
“You’re used to control,” you murmur.

I smile,
near your lips:
“Tonight, maybe not.”

Your breath deepens,
but you stay.

There is no winning here—
only who yields first
to depth.

VII
The bed is incidental,
not destination.

We lower into it
like water.

Your hands are steady,
never claiming.

I guide you,
you guide me—
a quiet exchange,
neither of us entirely leading.

VIII
When our breathing tangles,
I whisper:
“Remember—
I am not yours.”

You answer softly:
“Nor I yours.”

I smile.
“Good.”

IX
The night deepens without edge.

We don’t rush its ending—
only unfold each other,
layer by layer.

When you say my name,
your voice nearly dissolves.

I don’t answer—
only respond with my body,
slow,
exact.

X
Before dawn,
we remain entwined.

No one rises.

My fingers trace your shoulder,
memorizing
without claiming.

You look at me—
no questions,
no demands.

Only knowing,
as I do—

this night
is enough.

The Arm I Carry

On By Meiling CheungIn Uncategorized2 Comments

I have stood where the light forgets its name,
boots sunk in the grammar of broken ground,
breathing in dust that once was a home—
and no hymn rose, only the low machine of staying alive.

You sang of brothers.
I have buried them.

Not in verses—
in silence thick as wet earth,
in the careful folding of flags
that never feel large enough.

There is a moment—
you know it, if you’ve been there—
when the noise stops meaning anything.
Gunfire becomes weather.
Orders become echoes.
And all that remains
is the man beside you
breathing—
or not.

I have held a hand going cold
and felt no glory pass between us,
only a question
neither of us had time to answer.

You called it “arms.”
We called it weight—
the rifle, the pack, the gaze you carry home
that does not unclench
even in sleep.

Yes, we are brothers—
not by blood,
but by what we have seen
and cannot return.

But listen—
there is no romance here.
No clean horizon waiting to forgive us.
Only the long road back
where every step sounds like memory.

And still—
if I had to walk it again,
I would.

Not for country.
Not for the songs.

For the one who walked beside me
in that unlit place,
who did not look away
when the world did.

That is the oath
no anthem ever holds.

That is the arm I carry—
still.

吳藻答青玲 · 謎中謎

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你問月色照誰顏，
我偏不指，怕月羞顛。
花氣無聲侵夜袖，
是誰心熱，使露先甜？

燈前一笑，非笑亦非，
唇未開時，意已微垂。
解得此中空白處，
便知閒處最相思。

雲低水暗，各自留形，
波不言情，卻把情迎。
魚動非游，是心輕顫，
一躍之間，暗合幽盟。

世人逐字換金聲，
我獨聽風過句行。
那風不寫名與姓，
只在行間，慢慢生。

琴止三聲，指尚留溫，
夜深不問，誰是知音人。
竹影一搖，衣紋欲亂，
未入幽夢，夢已臨門。

你若猜我笑中謎，
我便不說，任你疑。
疑到一線將斷處，
正是相逢未碰時。

You ask whose face the moonlight wears—
I do not point; the moon would blush.
Blossom-scent slips soundless into night sleeves:
whose warmth taught the dew to sweeten first?

Before the lamp, a smile—neither yes nor no;
my lips stay closed, yet meaning leans.
Solve the silence between these lines
and you’ll know where leisure learns to ache.

Clouds lower, water darkens—each keeps form;
the waves won’t speak, yet welcome longing.
The fish does not swim—it trembles,
and in that leap a private pact is struck.

The world trades syllables for ringing gold;
I listen only to the wind between words.
It signs no names, claims no titles—
it grows, slowly, in the margins.

The qin falls quiet after three warm notes;
deep night asks no one’s name.
Bamboo shadows sway, a robe almost loosens—
the dream has reached the door before we sleep.

If you dare to guess the riddle in my smile,
I will not answer. Let you linger there.
For when the thread is thinnest, nearly torn,
that is the moment before we touch.

Sovereign Refusal

On By Meiling CheungIn Poetry, Sonnet, UncategorizedLeave a comment

I feel your nearness tremble through the air,
A warmth that stirs the edges of my will.
Your gaze invites a sweetness I could bear,
Yet still I hold my silence, fierce and still.

Desire rises—slow, deliberate, bright—
A heat that gathers where your shadow falls.
But though it burns, I keep my center tight,
For longing answers only when she calls.

You reach, and every breath becomes a flame,
A pull that hums along my living skin.
Yet I deny the path that speaks your name,
For power lies in choosing not to let you in.

My want is mine; I guard it like a throne—
A sovereign fire, claimed by me alone.

The Turning of the Longest Night

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The longest night descends with solemn grace,
A velvet hush that crowns the waiting earth.
The sun withdraws, yet leaves a tender trace,
A promise faint of dawn’s returning birth.

The stars burn bright upon the frosted air,
As if to guard the world in silver flame.
The trees stand still, in silhouettes laid bare,
And whisper ancient songs without a name.

Yet in this depth of shadow, light is sown—
A spark that stirs beneath the frozen seam.
For even darkness cannot claim the throne
When solstice wakes the year from winter’s dream.

So let the night be long, the silence deep—
For in its heart, the rising sun shall sleep.

Galadriel’s Mirror

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A silver basin holds the forest’s breath,
Its waters whisper futures yet unknown.
They show both life and shadow, love and death,
A thousand paths the heart may call its own.

The hobbit sees his homeland torn and scarred,
The wizard’s eye aflame upon the sky.
Yet choice remains, though visions may be marred—
The Mirror speaks, but never tells a lie.

Galadriel stands, a flame of light and will,
Her hand outstretched, yet steady in her grace.
She passes by the Ring, though time is still,
And leaves its fire to burn in Sauron’s face.

So waters shine, both perilous and clear—
The soul revealed in Galadriel’s Mirror.

The Bloom Beneath the Bruise

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Answer to Watch “The Rose” by Bette Midler on YouTube

Some say love is just a fever—
a flush of want, a reckless ache.
Some say love is sharp and clever,
a blade that learns which vows to break.

I say love’s a slow seduction,
a thorn that hums beneath the skin,
a bloom that drinks from contradiction,
soft petals wrapped in secret sin.

It waits beneath the frost and silence,
it stirs when no one dares to speak,
it dances in the mouth of violence,
it blossoms where the body’s weak.

And when the night is long and hollow,
and touch feels like a distant ghost,
remember: even wounds can swallow
the light we crave, the heat we host.

So plant your heart in dirt and daring,
let rain baptize what shame has burned—
the bloom beneath the bruise is bearing
a love that’s raw, and real, and earned.