Literary Yard

Search for meaning

‘The Blind Storm’ and other poems by Yan Yin Phoi

By: Yan Yin Phoi

The Blind Storm

You hear it before you see
The skies morph into darkness.
Its roar cracks through your soul.
Plop plop plop.

They fall heavy, swift, as expected.
People run and rush for shelter.
They saturate the ground with moisture.
Plop plop plop.

Some welcome the pure, fresh air,
The cleansing of dirt, dust, debris.
Some rejoice at the signal of new beginnings.
Plop plop plop.

Others hear the tolling of an end –
It should have come earlier, this warning.
This rain did not have to be
Red rivers, lost limbs, torn trust,
Did not have to be
Bombs falling
Plop plop plop.



And in those moments after you jumped
You feel

an anchor in your core
plough through your insides.


wind in your hair,
a drifting feeling of lightness.
You smile,
content for the first time in a long while.


You feel gravity pull at you.
You remember
the reasons for your jump – see the rush of concrete towards your face –
a bulldozer meant to crush your soul.


You taste the vile crunch of regret.
You swallow
and lean into the choice you have made,
for there is no other reality.

Not now anyway.


Wake up, my brother

My greatest nightmare.
Stumbling, falling, waking—
Momentarily lost, confused.
But yet, that’s you…
Everything a blur, a dream. Is life a dream?

In the scene, a toppled chair.
The fan silent, the air stale.
Curtains shut and still.
A looped belt –
You there, hanging like limp clothes.


One day

You are a train, your life tracks.
You ride past fields of evergreen and drought.
You witness weddings, picnics, and funerals some.

The first time you hit a tunnel
the darkness shocks you—
so cold, so damp, quiet and still.
Memories of light shut out of your mind.

You think you hear echoes of cries of mirth,
whispers of familiar voices from afar,
a hand on your skin, squeamishly warm…
You seek extremes of heat and cold.

Laughter sounds from your mouth, foreign yet high,
tears quake your soul, and tears you to shreds.
The sun mocks your misery.
The night extends it.

Five minutes. A week. A lifetime.
The light. A tunnel.
The distance. Your choice.



Pause. Listen
To the calm of the night.
Wash your demons,
just wispy soft figures,
away in the dark.
For a glimpse of life
Worth living.

Leave a Reply

Related Posts