Last day…
Younger than Shanghai
The Lady,
this city breathes
a woman’s sophistication.
When Hong Kong is a Woman.
She stands in emancipation,
fans her lashes,
highlights her lines,
clasping her silver handbag
under a coat of grey. …
dismantles an entire truth.
Hong Kong,
a woman of contrast.
The districts flash
with a compressed rhythm.
The pathways unravel time’s passing.
A glowing fuse,
the ladies are reveries
for wanderlust.
Her contenders trail
into her heart.
The Sun sets
approaching Night’s fall
and she undoes her hair,
allowing a pause along the journey.
Hong Kong whispers
a quiet melancholy,
echoing a delicate magnetism.
She plays the mirage
of a seductive glance.
From her vertical frames,
she mesmerizes guests
through a gateway to her Motherland.
The voyager vanishes
embraced by the labyrinth.
Until dawn break,
she is a charmer,
a keeper,
a romantic in hiding.
Miss Hong Kong holds
my eternal fascination.
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