our face, our being
a tabula rasa
in the making
collecting pats and
praises of admiration (or not)
from our parents
romping around with
siblings and guffawing in the sun
at the rice fields
under the monsoon
filling our soul with its raindrops
a light of ray on that
special day
that tassels weaving through
the bamboo leaves
that precious smile
and touch from
that one and only
under the raining rose petals
we are beaming
the moon lights us
in an aura visible only
within our bossoms
a black gash of dark paint
slashes across our
scapes but resilient
we plod on, put on a smile
for we are not easily riled
for we are portraits in
the making
Artwork by 立
