Reflecting History Poem by Henry Tong

History is a sigh on the Wailing Wall
where suffering is washed by the storm.
History is a revolution standing tall
where the fallen bodies are still warm.

When silence permeates the violet sky
freedom summons the unyielding bellows.
Yet with the deafening cry of martyrs
power rests in prayers and gallows.

From Han to Tang, Maurya to Mughal,
Parthian to Safavid, or Rome to Medieval
civilization calculates its precise steps
and is pushed by wisdom of novel.

As empires decay and republics breeze
the world is shaping the crawling people.
As trade expands and culture breeds
the people is shaping transforming world.

Time connects the footprints of soils
and guides a way to renew the impossibles.
Eyes engage in the shrinking globe
and communicate future with invisibles.

I am also part of history, living as
a spark of flame that extinguishes even.
but I know the tremendous power inside
would burst forth with knowledge given.

When history accelerates in dazzle
and people are tired to chase.
I can look back where it started
and find my direction in my place.