(I typed this a couple of days after the unfortunate incident that occurred at Pasir Ris station. I boarded the train for the first time in months and suddenly, I felt so uncomfortable. The fact that an accident has happened, yet here we are.
Moving along and on trains that run them over again in five minute intervals.
Sadness overcame me. And I wrote this short poem.)
Bones crushed and faces smeared
Unrecognisable yet once whole bodies
Evoke names, spirits and lives into the picture
No more voices left but silence speaks on their behalf
Premature palms but still taken away by the hands of neglecting responsibility
Youth spent fighting for the place that tore them apart
Yet the journeys of the living continues
Over their ashes and too quickly forgotten graves
Trains running over the stained unseen tracks
Again, again, again.
(I was in Hong Kong and while visiting Cheung Chau Island, my eyes were drawn to the face of a seasoned fisher woman. Tan, strong and filled with wrinkled memories. Her eyes wide and the reflection of all she has seen. I can still see her in my mind’s eye – settled down on a plastic chair for the afternoon, smoking a cigarette with a beer in hand to keep her warm.)
Deep lines on her face
Sun-kissed, patterned and seasoned
Telling of old tales
(I remember reading a real life incident of a spurned lover ripping her boyfriend’s heart out. To view it in its entirety. Hoping to find an answer to his infidelity, and maybe, the love remaining.)
Dissection of the chest
I take your heart in my hands
It was as human as it could get
All blood and regret
Naysayers will say that I went a bit mad
Hugging it as it bled
Slitting throats and tearing out a heart just for revenge
But I was driven by grief and curiosity
As black hearts are big and bad
Hiding crimes of sin and everything I never had
Yet yours was as small as weak origami
Crushed in my human fists
Stronger than the muscle
I died twice.
(Receiver goes live. Breathing is heard. Silence is non-existent; even when no words are uttered, the phone line cackling can be heard singing to breath.)
Do you want to speak on the phone for a while?
Can you just please talk to me?
Why am I the only one bringing things up?
Is it because you not care?
Is it very uncomfortable?
Is it something I have done?
Do you not trust me?
Do you not feel like you have the space?
Do you think I don’t deserve to know things?
Why must I fight so hard just for you to say something?
Why are we like this?
(Suddenly, I can hear my own voice echoing from the line back at me. Plenty of noise fill up the limited soundscape – footsteps, flipping of books, tearing.)
(Speaker mode, or just desperation toying with my hearing. And the line dies after a quick suffocation from the other end.)
(I realise that the more tired I am, the shorter my poems become. Are they poems or just aligned words? I no longer know.)
Facing the sun
Breaking bones for temporal heat
Blinded by brightness
Burned by fire
Buried by light
Rooted to the earth
Shedding home only
(So, the following would be things my mind cooked up for SingPoWriMo last month. I just revised them further. After all, works will always keep seeking improvement. Also, I have been too tired/lazy to work my brain after 11pm every day to find new literary inspiration to write. Pardon me.)
Your name has become poetry
Not rhymes or rhythms or the
Simple complexity of curled tongue against stubborn teeth
But the conjuring of you living
Words of your mouth echoed in endless sentences
Marching in silence
What does your name actually mean
Now just a mascot for our campaign-loving Singapore
Forgotten, in ashes
Living in limbo
Another mascot for campaign-loving Singapore
Pull poetry out of ass in parliament
Read writing off ghost writer
Brave Seventh Month haze for NDP
Look good in white
What if all human beings share the same pair of eyes?
Would they speak of the same stories?
Would they share the same lies?