You know the opposite of moonlight is a nest woven by darkness,
and you know your heart is a place where people ache,
where people no longer feed their birds on fire.
Such a vain sacrifice, you might murmur,
for they still seize a daydream this hard,
as if it is made of blood, semi-red light, spilling everywhere.
Sigh a little bit, you whisper,
for being brave enough to throw a party
in order to turn it into a fragmented battlefield,
a battlefield where your veins against veins, blood against blood,
fight like a heartless knight.
But god, tell me, isn’t it painfully true that
everything remained still, remains still, and is going to remain still?
just as a ship’s determination to sink into the sea.
No turning back.
in and out,
they speak in a language made by blue sea salt,
by waving ocean, by carnelian sky.
A language so huge that a tiny human heart
can never sustain easily,
struggling must it be.
So say it: I want to be overwhelmed, thoroughly.
Say: I want to be touched, thoroughly.
Say: for this is the only way to be untouched, thoroughly.
Freya Zhang is a young Chinese poet, currently based in London, pursuing a MA in Comparative Literature in King’s College London. Her main driving force in creating literary works is based on her sincere interest in stream of consciousness and how it can work with surrealism to bring out the core of life into reality.