Past oh past

On the road back to the grave-yard,
They filled up those ponds, flattened rice fields ...
Along with all my childhood memories.
Memories of light yellow noon, and pinkish naiveness.
Memories of lies and punishment.
Memories rolling together with wheel of the bicycle my mom was riding, and I was sitting on the carton box on the seat behind.
Memories of  tears and sorrow.

Like it has just occurred yesterday.
I saw them broken, and myself crumbled.
The mirror has been already shattered into pieces,
Pieces sharpened themselves, ambushed a careless wanderer.
The fluid keeps flowing, and its container runs dry.

When forced to open,
When the pupil is lighted,
When it stands still, and turn into stone...
A hand floating through the air, cross the face,
Leave a piece of white rag intensionally,
The rain start falling,
The rain dyes blue on their look,
And red to their eyes,
The rain taste bitter salty on their tongue,
Eager loneliness keeps its reign.

Turned right to the indifferent path,
Slowed the bike down,
Riding straight to the certain address,
As if an invisible force bends his head with all his might,
Or is it that he tries his best to fight over that mighty force to keep his own position ?
Turn the bike around skillfully,
A little satisfaction mixed by tiny nervousness,
He tapped his helmet and rode home yesterday,
As if this were the last goodbye,
And he knows for sure he'll be back tomorrow.
Just to say, "good night, my friend"