Selected Poems



Your words are whispers now.


Our words are whispers now.


The memory turns

Black   burdened

by   blurriness

out of one dream

another is born

out of one life

many were wasted


faltering in fear, I searched for ways to give

as the weather gives us its temper,

and the books give us their feeling,

under this peachy orange hue,

illuminating underneath closed off feelings

I wished to summon, my senses trapped,

one over the other, the other over another,

out of sync, out of self.

Where are we now?


Again, in the escalating wildness of the monolithic state,

searching for the flattened land, the sea and its horizon.

Where do we go when there is nowhere to return to?

When there is nowhere we belong to?

Cradled in youth, our separation comes in pulses,

until bursts of memory treat us to their miss-shaped forms

and retrieve the ritual of care.


I called out to this non-space. And silence returned.

I held my hands to my face. And silence returned.

I watched the water’s stream. And silence returned.

I smelt the orchid’s bloom. And silence returned.


Silence returned, as the walls crumbled into cracks,

allowing new weeds to bloom,

and bring about the first transition we had felt in years,

the first phase of the second movement,

balanced between the thin line that signals

where I am and where you were.

Such that the upheaval of my spirit recalls on you,

in moments that appear too dark to see,

and all the while, a silence returned.


All rights reserved Joshua Leon

© 2018