Let’s talk about our hands
Waiting in stance to mock our innocence.
We stretch wide and pluck unripe oranges
And dropped the ripe cashew in the waste bin.
We are all coined images,
And we open our mouth to the leaking roof.
Don’t you know all belching mouth is not full
And the full stomach wasn’t fed by this drop of water.
Our precious roof is leaking
Counting from the day our forefathers
sold our bread for nails and hammers.
It wasn’t two struck that made holes there…
So, your forefather is not a saint.
We unfilial descendants still aimed
And now, we eventually traded with
the owners of nails and hammers.
We want to patch our leaking roof
But who knows the destroyer of the roof?