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I am the child of shadow,
with a heart cold as night stone.
I trace the dark, the deepest gloom,
sinking into a wrecked universe.

Without direction, without support,
brooding in stillness, never blinking,
eyes shut like a lantern gone out,
following the crackle of aged sounds.

Hands trembling, clutching at broken fingers,
splintered bones crossing, grinding with pain,
sinews twisted, tightened, tangled tight.

I inch forward, bowing, lamenting,
chanting rhymes hollow of meaning,
ancient japa, a mute mantra,
rumbling, then vanishing.

Still unable to weave even a dead prayer,
a song that sounds without a voice,
echoing, yet muffled.

The body shimmers, turning into mist,
because I am the child of shadow.

Liauw Pauw Phing also writes on Medium and serves ILLUMINATION publications as an editor. You can learn mor about his background from this interview.