By Racy Huang
Jades of exploit and diamonds of orient:
An antagonistic pair still yet attuned.
Say ‘feign me a geisha, an idol, a porcelain doll’
And you shall hear the jade crack, the silk rip, my chest heave.
Found, not forged they hope
But impurities are collated and considered,
Caressed through knowing hands in consequence.
Finger my ridges, moisten my craters, buff me right even.
File me down, maintain the purity, oh a chink at my discretion!
Carbon lattices stand fixed though; a resounding frigidity
Yet
You siphon my value,
Melded into frocks of organza so deftly torn apart for this momentary warmth.
Infantry was adorned with those hues of green,
A basque of tongue-ties, of brown eyes, of hushed mires.
The rabbit on the moon blows me a draughty kiss,
My untainted pride all but sealed and so tragically for naught.
Childhood exchanged those colours of mine
For crystals of salt unravelled my tongue;
And balls of aquamarine bludgeoned me petrified,
Those bellies of laughter estranging the forlorn chick.
Slumber laid the palette to rest –
After all, an artisan works not at night!
Here black conquered gold,
Here lines struck curves,
Here diamond and jade became deities alike.
Oysters pierced into adolescence.
Their putrid, faecal husk offering an unsightly match
Against my mother-of-pearl.
A murk so ubiquitous they summoned mines to encrust me whole.
Diamonds.
Only diamonds.
Serrated was the exterior
And a pathetic taste to the interior:
“Lap me up like fools’ gold”
Unacquainted with my exotic flush or unfeigned touch.
My viridian became thus vanquished
But carve him an eighth wonder,
Mask those fissures
And deem her palatable.
She’s hardly fragile once bejewelled.
I am older now.
Strangely these days they prise me open,
Caress this carcass of emerald so desirable
And I am cradled.
Warmth.
So now penetrate me,
Permeate my crevices,
Plough into my core
For I am not pungent nor marred anymore!
Strip my carats
And exhibit me for the voyeur –
Ascertain his preference
And I shall deliver:
Submit.
Conform.
Predictably a shrapnel remains;
Declare me wanton at best
But never have such tender gazes nested in green.
Pry into muted chambers
And engorge those fractures,
Again, again, again.
Festering wounds but behold me still
I’ll plead and render the heavens for this.
But he knows not of certainty
Instead forgotten is the ink, the crescents, the onyx.
Turn to that of amber, of sapphire, of moonstone.
Misshapen as it was this vessel had harboured hope:
Beyond gemstones of allegory
Beyond tormented verse.
What to do but remould these splinters of glass
Or resume one’s seat at the gouache?
Tears will garnish this commodity again I am sure –
My attributes to be thus converged:
An antagonistic pair still yet attuned,
Diamonds of orient and jades of exploit.
Featured Image: “Philosopher’s Repose” Jade Mountain, British Museum
