Umbrella Movement / December 2014 (Issue 26)


Vocation During Wartime

a poem by Lo Mei Wa

'Chaotic scenes unfolded in Admiralty on Monday when a mob of masked men, who appeared to be working in tandem with taxi drivers and truck drivers, removed barricades in Queensway and Cotton Tree Drive as dozens of anti-Occupy protesters gathered in the area. Scuffles broke out when some of the masked men cut the plastic cable ties connecting barriers on Queensway and confronted Occupy protesters.'

—South China Morning Post, 13 October 2014
Occupy Central – Day 16

“Yes, you can break my leg.”
“It’s 8am. The sky is still dark.”
“They are counting seconds from my look.”
“Can you smell the lake? I miss the quiet of lake.”
“Why are you fucking wearing a mask?”
“I think I am getting off at Bruxelles-Midi this time.”
“Damn, should I seek help?”
“Can I get a glass of water?”
“And more damn pigs are still arriving.”
“The train to Toulouse has just departed from Gare du Nord.”
“They start shrieking in Communist dialect.”
“I will slice the sunflower fields and sow back a seed I like.”
“My index finger points at the plane. Their eyes follow.”
“My brother has gone. Do you speak Dutch?”
“They threaten to charge if I don’t cut my tongue.”
“My brother and I watched the sun rising above Valkenburgse Meer.”
“I squat to undo my shoelaces.”
“I left my brother’s hyacinth in Gierather Wald though.”
“And keep speaking Cantonese.”
“That day, the bleak winter punished me.”
“They attacked one another biting head off one another.”
“I left the palace in Brüel for the Icelandic stars.”
“I left at 6pm with one eye punched blind.”
 
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