In Hong Kong’s heart one winter night,
’84 — the streets alight.
A young man walked with love so true,
Ha Ron beside his Jen Yu.
They’d dined, they’d laughed, their hearts in sync,
The city’s glow began to blink.
Across the courtyard, calm and still,
He walked her home — as was his will.
Old buildings loomed, their edges cracked,
The elevators creaked and clacked.
They hated those old steel machines,
Yet habit rules where fear convenes.
They stepped inside, floor thirteen pressed,
The doors closed slow — their nerves were stressed.
The lift groaned loud, its cables cried,
Yet up it climbed, side scraping side.
They reached her floor, both breathed again,
A kiss, a smile — their nightly chain.
She went inside, her lights turned on,
And he turned back — his journey begun.
The lift came down with jolting sway,
He stepped inside, his thoughts astray.
Numbers dropped — twelve, eleven, ten,
Till seven came — and stopped just then.
A sudden jerk — the car stood still,
The air grew tight, his heart did chill.
He waited once… then twice again,
But doors stayed shut — his calm began to drain.
Then came a scent, so sharp, unclear,
Like chemicals that stung the ear.
He looked below — his eyes went wide,
The floor beneath was fire inside!
Flames bit his legs, his fear took hold,
A man of flesh in a furnace cold.
With blistered hands and breath that burned,
He looked above — escape he yearned.
The hatch! — salvation’s square of grace,
He climbed the wall, his skin a blaze.
He forced it open, through the heat,
And pulled himself — death in defeat.
Above the smoke, he gasped for air,
While flames devoured the metal lair.
Below, the lift now moaned and sighed,
As if the building itself had cried.
Meanwhile Yu, with gentle face,
Looked from her window to their place.
She waited long — he should’ve come,
Across the yard, back to his home.
Minutes passed, then dread took hold,
Something’s wrong — her blood ran cold.
She hurried out, her fears aligned,
The elevator lights — one sign.
The seventh floor, its number burned,
The car was stuck, it hadn’t turned.
She called for help, her voice unsteady,
“Please come quick — the fire’s ready!”
The firemen came, with calm, not rush,
But soon the hall was filled with hush.
Smoke seeped thick from metal seams,
Reality was worse than dreams.
They pried the doors — the shaft revealed,
The car hung low, its fate was sealed.
Flames below, black smoke above,
A deadly trap for one they love.
They saw the hatch — it lay ajar,
Perhaps he’d fled, perhaps not far.
They shouted down — his name they cried,
But silence echoed, deep and wide.
And in that shaft, the truth would glow,
Of how he fought those fires below.
Though burned and scarred, he made it through —
For love had lit his courage too.
Now whispers tell, in Hong Kong’s mist,
Of the man who faced death’s fiery twist.
A tale where fate, both cruel and kind,
Burns bright in every human mind.