Poetry Competition “Generations” Winners Announcement (English Section)

We are delighted to announce two exceptional winners of the English Section in HKILF 2026 Poetry Competition “Generations”: Charisse Hue for the Junior Division, and Jessica Chan for the Public Division. The two winners will each receive a voucher and perform their works at “Poetry x Jazz” event on 4 March (8-10pm), at Aftermath Central.

We extend our sincere gratitude to all the talented participants who contributed to the success of this competition. A special thank you goes to our esteemed judges, Mary Jean Chan and Prof. Stuart Christie, for carefully selecting these outstanding works.

to the German Fiancé i’ve never met before

Charisse Hue

because i was a little girl
i was born with a family name
colour
and two X chromosomes —
Xanthous from my mom
and Xenophobia from my Dad.
because i was three, He demonstrated with Lego.
Xanthous and Xenophobia
full of potent
ial on their own
collects dust when combined.

because i was a little girl
i was afraid of marriage.
of letting our name melt away into a stranger’s
like a drop of paint
into the gray ocean —
the last borders of colour
dissolved in nothingness.
because i was five, He bought a crayon.
Colour (a beautiful label from generations of Men
Fame
my Great-Grandfather the Rider who whipped Black Beauty with his name
Erupt
my Grandfather the Teacher who taught the world history of Europe
Money
my Father the Journalist who interviewed fair figures
who punched into my skin the useful mnemonic)
within the black lines.

because i was a little girl
i hugged faint scribbles close
and mapped out plans in my sparkly notebook
to remove one gene from my body
or erase my name from the world.
foolish:

Father chose the Herr for her
long before she turned thirteen —
you mockery of what i might have been.

do not say anything unlucky during the holidays

Jessica Chan

my mother reminds me, so the lotus paste clings safe in my mouth.
how not to say, hey, this could be the last mooncake we’re sharing.
what if one day i tear out of this seat and find myself
landing feet-first on the asphalt. what if
at the turnstile i turn right back around.
how not to say my desire is sharper than that knife.
that i have never asked for another moon.
how not to say, imagine you at my family dinners.
how unlucky, my desire.
more animal than any moon.
imagine how good it would feel, to pretend not to want something,
and my mother takes the knife and gives me that last piece anyway.

Winner’s commentary: Just two lines short of a modern sonnet, Chan’s moving poem lingers on the unsaid in a familial setting rife with silence, with vivid lines such as “how not to say my desire is sharper than that knife”. The judges admired the poet’s use of imagery, moving deftly from “mooncake” to “moon”, from the threat of forbidden desire to the mother’s knife that cuts “last piece” which is given lovingly to the speaker. Repetition is used to great effect as the speaker asks “how” they might exist amidst the strictures of home and society, and begins in this powerful poem to offer an answer. – Mary Jean Chan