Anthology Poem #4 (submitted to Newyorker for contest)

                                                 Have Nothing At All

   

    Once I asked endlessly,

    When with me would you go?

    But you always make fun of me,

    Have nothing at all.

    I will give you my pursuit,

    I will give you my freedom.

    But you always make fun of me,

    Have nothing at all.

    The ground under my feet is walking,

    The water besides me is flowing.

    But you always make fun of me,

    Have nothing at all.

    Why you are always laughing?

    Why am I seeking so hard?

    Am I always,

    Have nothing at all.

    I am telling you I wait for so long,

    I am telling you my last request.

    I am going to grab your hands,

    And you are going with me.

    Now your hands are shaking,

    Now your tear is pouring.

    Maybe you love me,

    Have nothing at all.