Hanging Babylon, fig trees of dream—uncut oasis, liquor of sun.
Perfect Babylon: a sceptre, ailing queen, a gospel of hoaxes
preachers hang from their lips; hang, Babylon—
like illustrious light in blue.
You died and lived again; the garlands of folklore welcomes
as the mortal instruments resent.
A nightmare’s orange grove, the tragedy’s first words;
hang, Babylon—fruit of the hanging tree.
Venus Fung is a seventeen-year-old appreciator of literary art based in Hong Kong. Complex literature, well-written lyrical masterpieces and deep conversations make up the bulk of her personality; under her pen, anything could be her muse. She believes that there is a meaning to all that exists if it is read and looked at enough times. Writing is her preferred medium of conversation with herself, and with those who appreciate the arts within life the way she does. She hopes to inspire, but even more so she hopes to simply be there and support those who are struggling through her own words.