Ong Kar Jin
From White To White
Winter, an old man alone on his deathbed,
Grasps at all chances of life, choking it on sight;
The Land becomes a hospital pale shade,
Of death, of emptiness, of blinding White.
But the Land, ever resisting, holds on.
Slowly, surely, nurturing, persisting;
Hope, a trembling thing, is transformed,
Into pure inevitability, a solid alabaster carving.
And from deep within the ashen void,
Life returns, ready for its righteous rule,
The Land gives itself to rebuild what was destroyed:
Sheep giving its fleece to make warm wool.
Behold! The flowers, as solid clouds, unfurl,
Emerging, sprinkle after sprinkle of milk,
Exploding like scattered boxes of pearls,
The land from slush becomes silk.
White flowers, by the millions
Form a blanket of summer snow
A breeze, then swaying in tandem,
Like mist in veils of morning, flows.
From white to white, and from flight to fight,
The desolation has morphed into a beautiful sight.
Though now without might, the Land can sleep tight,
For the truth, that life perseveres, has finally come to light.
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