"Alice in Wonderland" – I don’t know who wrote the book with this title, as if Alice is and will forever be enjoying her childhood in a wonderful place full of woodlands, holding a toy bear in her arm. I bet no grown-up would like to go through what I did, felling into the hole of a tree trunk and subsequently drinking tea and eating cake with a bunch of animals and meeting strange people in an underground world. I did not know why my story has bewildered so many people, but that is definitely not to me. Once, I remembered seeing you, Alice, my enthusiastic reader who visited England from the East. You walked along a small street in Oxford and came into a small museum particularly to look for me. I saw you picking up that red book full of illustrations about me and my friends. Perhaps you think I did not know why you bought the book. You bought it because you have never seen an oak tree an wonder how someone wil...
Moth I did not hate you until you left my beloved woollen top With holes that reflects a galaxy in the sky. I like your lightness and artistic movements as you flapping across sitting room and bedrooms You look likes a fairy but not as fair as I wished. I am like an inspector for the crime scenes And definitely my only role is to catch you. There I found you hoovering on my white wall So obvious, you must be coloured blind With your wings at your back It seems you are waiting for your chance A chance to mate Or a chance to bite Or waiting to be killed. But I could not let you go Despite you are so vulnerable I just could not. You left a line of grey powder as I squeezed through your fragile body Ending your premature death. I am a murder with powder in my finger My fairy, you should not come to human place It is your fault that leave me such a name. Alice Wat July 2020 written under knockdown in London