Chinese Takeaway


A rose blooms at my smile.

Flashes of light flood the streets.

A blind painter’s brushstrokes sweep the canvas,


Creating another new masterpiece,

things normal people cannot even reproduce.


What are those little thingamajigs?

Oh right, it’s a camera.


A snapshot,

a click,


A moment in time captured,

history on a piece of film.


Alas, this will not do. This will not do at all.

It’s blur, unclear,

as if the particles are bleeding ink all over.

Is that a tentacle?

Oh, it’s a hand?


Without those palm sized pieces of paper,

I can still remember.

The thoughts,



Something even a camera cannot even capture.


Yes I am angry. Furious even, that the photographs turned out this way. I suppose, when we win something, we have to lose something in the process.

Ps. I think I did a great job thinking of the title of this poem, it’s so fitting!

    • Queen
    • February 13th, 2011

    This is just incredible! Haha you’ve left my mind in its most comfortable state; when it’s thinking. Mindblowing, really. 🙂

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