Poetry by Pui Ying Wong

BLUING

The sky is blue, and bullets fly.
The sky is blue, and bullets fly.
The sky is blue, and bullets fly.
The sky is blue, and bullets fly.

Along a wild river and old villages,
Hung laundry and rubble,
Summer camp and freshwater, bullets fly.

The sky is blue, the sky is blue, the sky is blue.

In classrooms and in cinemas, in cafes
And in churches, in shopping malls and discos,
In barracks with flower beds and greenway, bullets fly,

Bullets fly, bullets fly, bullets fly.

In Sunday sc...

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