A Poem for the Hungry Ghosts
I won't wear red to draw attention,
sing or whistle my favourite melody.
I won't linger near the shadowed walls
to stir or fret the hungry ghosts,
unrested souls trying to recall a life
without fear or violence or tragic luck.
Their whispers are all sighs and envy
as I walk home in open lamplight.
The 17th was Ghost Festival Day here in China, when many believe that ghosts (gui), the spirits of the dead, visit their living relatives - while the hungry ghosts (egui), who were victims of tragedy, are inclined to beset all the living with their woe. Superstitions abound - several of which are touched on here.
ReplyDeletethis is wonderful, Rob, trodden carefully :)
ReplyDeleteThank you, Efi.
Deletehey Rob, the most amazing month. A much smaller scale in Singapore where we lived for a few years ... I was mesmerised by the fires that appear everywhere, on the streets, the temples, the stories! You capture it beautifully.
ReplyDeleteYour words here took me to the place your write of...whether that's physical or my imagination responding...
ReplyDeleteThank you, dear Michele, Linda and Anna. You're kind to such a little poem. But it's true that this month is a bit spooky. Alas, I see ghosts almost everywhere. Usually on their way to work. Stumbling off the bus. Shave a cent off a bag of apples. And all my tired middle and high school students. In their summer vacation sent packing to classes to bone up on English - the new status symbol. Now just looking stunned. Trying to communicate something I can't quite hear.
ReplyDelete