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He Died at a Young Age — Poem

He died at a young age

Ever since

I have lost my pillar of support

I have lost my life advisor

I have lost direction

He was my postman

He was my driver

He is my father

He died at 63 years old

He died at a young age

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My father was a mediocre man living a mediocre life, I won’t be able to write his biography but I can write him a poem.

As quoted from Robert Woodruff  Anderson, “Death ends a life, but it does not end a relationship.” My father will always live in my heart, no matter where he is.

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Is This Depression?


The lights go out

But you’re not scared

You’ve expected this


Day by day

You live like a robot

Not interested in your

favourite game anymore


No excitement

No expectation




The feeling

won’t go away

That sad somber



You wonder

What is the meaning of life?

What is the purpose of life?

Is this depression?



You can’t give up

There is a vulnerable baby

who depends on you



a holiday?

a visit to psychiatrist?



A long long way to go

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It is humiliating

Your name is the same as the zodiac Cancer

How is that possible?

Cancer is loyal, nurturing and loving

But you are the total opposite

How can you be loyal when you attack almost anyone?

How can you be nurturing when what you bring is only suffering?

How can you be loving when what you bring to the family is fear?


Hope for the best!


What are you?

Why advanced medical technology

can’t conquer you?


Go away

We do not want you here

We want our family members and friends


Note to myself

My youngest uncle has passed away due to cancer. Before him, my neighbour and my friend’s father have passed away within this year due to cancer.

There are many others who have cancer and are still surviving. It seems that the current medical technology still cannot fully conquer cancer. Hopefully, one day, cancer will be gone for good.

The Serial Killer — Part 2

Part 1

You take out the gun, your hands’re trembling

You pull the trigger, you’re shocked

The person is killed

There is fear inside you

Yet, you are thrilled

You kill more and more

You are addicted

You have found the love of your life — Killing



Stop killing!


Note to myself

Another quick production of poem without much editing. I am not a smoker. I have this idea from a Cantonese movie where a man finds the thrill of killing people after his first killing. The killing metaphor is just like the smoker’s killing.

Smokers may not realize how much the life of a non-smoker has changed. The least that a smoker can do to his / her loved ones, is not to kill them a.k.a. smokes in front of them.


The Serial Killer — Poem

Walking to the left

Walking to the right

Walking to the front

Making a U-turn

Yes, I see you

The cold-blooded serial killer

At the traffic lights

At the bus stops

Even children are not spared

And pregnant women

Yes, it is you

The cold-blooded serial killer

The S-M-O-K-E-R

Note to myself No editing. The poem is written due to hatred to smokers who have stolen the clean and fresh air. I have no place to run, it is the true feeling that I want to tell every smoker out there. My life has changed.







Note: 高高的树 = 高数 = Additional Mathematics. This is a poem to express my love for A-Maths. I spent endless nights solving questions after questions, just to discover that the more questions I solved, the more I love A-Maths. The reward is the satisfaction from within, the envy from classmates and the compliments from teachers.