I visited the Hong Kong Museum of art yesterday. I wrote this poem a little later 🙏

Racing through COVID clutter.
A bankrupt taxi driver,
who once sang opera.
A barber, who cut hair for the poor.
Now, a silent death chair waits.
A woman, on the streets –
cheap liquor dripping
from her mouth.
Still talking about
stocks and shares.
And the art of the deal.
Then there is me……
Should I scrape the wall?
Or notice the clouds?
I hear you in my mind.
‘Post-truth’, nothing false
you said.
So, I looked at the clouds.
And thought,
I should say something.