A teen-age to nineteen.
I have learnt how to hold my sin
with my name bold artery,
Like epistle I wrote my broken story
with the droplet of my tears.
My heart beat faster like gong of a church,
I harvested moonlight folktale
into apartment of astray with my memories
scattered like collapse castle in Othrando.
I wrote a crest on my chest like gospel
of my mother’s ancient prophecy,
I waited behind the picture of my mother
hanged in my darken body, expressing art through her portrait.