Sunday, December 10, 2017

Random Writes

I want to change the sun
to something new
and the moon too,
move some colour
over its paleness,
but shine it may
over the hill, over
the river glittering
in the darkest corners
my heart hides, over
and over.


In silence, voices
in my head bounce,
layer over one another.
Still, be still world,
leave only dark

Sunday, December 03, 2017



The light outside blinding as ever
has fallen and a finger now follows

with its own move as aged to release
your bedroom to its one naked face

as you begin to dissolve like salt
into its watery depth, eyes open,

nothing reminds you of your face,
as it loses the anchor of a comforting grin,

unlearns to be as naked as the drifting room,
undresses the pride it wears like clothes.

Tuesday, November 28, 2017

That Giant Ocean

What is there left to say? What of love, of loss, of memories? Maybe there will be more, just as the last wave crashes on white, barren shore. I was here. I say, I was here. Then...what?

I wish...what do I wish for? And what are wishes for? Like the wise old lady in the Japanese movie, "Mother Water", I quote her:"Make your day!", not "Good morning!" or "Good day!"

Time is that giant ocean running up and down interminably, always beyond your expectation. You will do well to hold on to it.

Sunday, October 08, 2017

Dear Blog

Dear blog,

How could I have forgotten you? You, the one who has always been on and by my side. The comfort through a cold or rainy night. Your words are the bees that pollinate my flowering heart. Now facing an older self, late nights have slipped between my fingers like water. I like to think I have never stopped my dance with words. Let the moon be my judge. But mostly in the grey mist of my mind.

Poetry, or what I like to call her, my writing. Yes, my old friend, she comes back once in a while. I am not ashamed of neglect. Or maybe she has abandoned me. In either case, it wouldn't be a different story.

Death, I read somewhere, is the most interesting of our lives. How short (and hopefully so), I think, this death, this climax, which we spend so much time waiting. Just waiting. We are the prodigals of time.

I can barely breathe. I only drift in the river of time. Can you feel my heart beat?

Friday, November 04, 2016

Some Poems - Late update

The Singapore Love Story

Another man, plain
As water. Winter lines
Written on face.

In steady hand he tighten
On her, his partner
For all seasons

Up the mall's escalator
Ride a silence deeper
Than winter

Into what the future
Holds, chest puffed
They share steel eyes.

He has decided she
Will not waste another
Of their dime.

P.S. "Time" and "dime" - get it? Haha.

Dear Library

The softness of your world
Not a wind blows
How time loses its meaning

As silent words grow

P.S.: Love the library, always.
Even at Mcdonald's
Rain hits on window,
Like shaker fries, can only
Romp in a small bag
A Professor's Lecture on Space
Firstly, to understand space,
You have to learn about the mystery
Of the black hole,

Of course!
P.S.: These last two poems were written based on what a certain MP said about sex not needing a lot of space.

Sunday, September 11, 2016



night paints a dark picture
even stars refuse
to be part of

still moist it drips into a cup
heart opens with emptiness

I write to fill with words 
that pretend to be big
but they are too heavy
dragged across the brittle
floor of the heart

screeching like chalk
on blackboard that others
mistake for crickets

P.S.: Have not been writing much and never been more unsure about poetry - what is it again?

Saturday, August 27, 2016

Night / Clouds


Did I ever tell you
How I went all crazy?
Not you?
How many nights
I couldn't sleep.
Your face might
Be hidden
In heavy, pillow shadow
A moon lightened,
Handing out all the shy
Beauty of night breathing
In your sleepless sighs.


Women are soft
Clouds of the sky
Holding up stars
As eyes. When they
Cry, the whole world
Cries even in the
Brightest sunshine.
And when they change
No man can perceive
What comes next.
They have learnt
To move on
Slowly at times.

P.S.: Love these two pieces. Of course, my judgment is clouded.