They endure amidst billows of gas

on routes feet used to saunter,

raising as yellow umbrellas blossom. 

The promise of rubber firearms, 

not unlike viceroy butterflies fluttering

among their monarch counterparts,

metal bullets ricochet off crumbled walls.

Masks conceal boyish youth,

the point of no return is never known 

until retrospect. 

Trails of murky blood into 

a sea of crumpled umbrellas. 

Streets were once paths toward home--

now, tainted with pepper spray and water jets,

metamorphosed into a battlefield. 

Bauhinia, it's petals, 

created upon the flag

a sterile hybrid, like Hong Kong

infertility settles, stills.

Branded as rioters,

voices taken fugitive,

tears being silenced. 

How can caged birds fly,

when their wings are clipped?

1898 is the year of giving and trading.

A small fishing village reshaped 

into the center of international trade. 

Now, “Fragrant Harbor,” no longer tangible, 

rancid tear gas smothers lips. 

The world watches from afar,

history unraveling, recollecting 2019. 

Once more the Oriental Pearl

crushes into fine powder.

Fragile umbrellas snap. 

Shackles again,

bind back upon 

Hong Kong’s heart.