Photos: Rui Pastorin
The tide
I put on cultures and colors, wonders and words
For a glamorous ride on the street of time.
Between West Boulevard and East Avenue,
I hear the echoes of friends cruising through feats and fates. I created this city in a pool of ink
Like a tiny paper boat that spins and sways. Cacophonous clones paddled back and forth. I folded the four corners of the Earth,
I had worlds and seas at my feet.
I crafted odd rhythms and offbeat melodies, Mixing sights and sounds, mingling up and down. I stirred life and lore with the tang of my heart. Now, here I am, sitting on floating hills. Syncopated spirits with an accent quite eccentric Whispered a Lingua Franca from a far-flung land. They greeted me with tales, vivid stories,
Thrilling voices, and high praises.
I showed them a fountain with a tinkling flow
Of symbols and signs,
So they should never forget the vast unknown.
All night long,
Classics and customs crash and collide.
Like a firecracker blast in a cosmic crock.
Pow!
A flickering parade lights up the Bay.
A frantic crowd follows the majestic wave.
Love sublimes labor, luck dazzles and fades, Fortune comes and goes, history is made.
At sunrise,
The walls of the Grand Hotel are painted with dust. Vintage halls are soaked in tears.
Novelty weeps in the golden sands of pride.
The tide is frail and so fragile.
Name: Alexandre Lebel
Grade: Doctorate student
School Category: University (University of St. Joseph) Theme’s Category: Blended cultures
University category champion USJ Doctorate Student Alexandre Lebel recites his poem during Saturday’s contest.
Home
Dreaming of a place where I would belong. A place as warm as sunbeams from the skies, So vivid yet faint so gentle to the eyes,
But where is this place I can call my home?
A town with culture as old as the age of stone, The devotion of filial piety is so raw,
Respect for your loved ones is an admiralty law. But is this a place I can call my own?
The western blood running through my veins, My natural features are too hard to refrain.
A country filled with a fiery passion,
But is this a place I can call my own?
One from the east, another from the west,
But to choose one would be an impossible quest. The fear of betrayal strikes me like a knife, What if I never find my place in life?
East or west, above or below,
This place I aspired to might only be seen tomorrow. BUT... as long as I am loved, respected and not neglected, That is a place I can call my home.
Name: Neves Dos Santos Augusto, Matilde
Category: Secondary (Blended Cultures)
Grade: Form 4
Secondary category champion Matilde Neves dos Santos Augusto from Colégio Diocesano São José 6 recites her poem on Saturday.
Macao’s Cobbled Pavement
The sight of black and white calçada ahead of me, Transports me back in time in Macao’s history,
When street food stalls lined this and that alley,
As grandpas and grandmas played mahjong for all to see.
Temples, markets and gardens were our community square,
From sunrise to sunset I’d meet friendly faces almost everywhere, The city smaller then, and a slower pace of life was the trend, Taipa and Coloane still islands, before Cotai was filled with sand.
If Macao’s past could point to the future that it holds,
It’ll surely be a place just as bustling, filled with many lively souls, The Portuguese-era calçada that’s before me showing me my way, Is a timeless display of such unique heritage present even today.
Chan Ay Ren P3C
Elementary Category
