Untitled #37.

After battles fought of not my own,

My inner voice spoke of peace today.

I have never been so happy to be embraced in white, 

And celebrated like a sacrifice. 


Tanjong Rhu MRT

(Memories, lessons learnt and always a part of me.) 
The days of blue and white uniforms

Forming high tides at eight in the morning 

And six at night 

Mandatory white shoes shuffling against

Concrete paths guiding the waves to shore 

Metal buttons sailing freely on cotton foam 
Naive enough to believe that putting buttons on

Every Dawn 

Would be the worst troubles of growing up 
But then came the days of 

Stormy regret and lightning fast consequences of 

Being dyed water in a sea of scientific pollution

Being a boat sailing against the current 

Being forced to walk the plank when all I did 

Was love another lonely soul 

Lost in the vast ocean of tides guided by 

Venus and Mars
Young enough to give in to crying at train station corners

Sneaking cigarettes

Hiding razor cuts beneath even shorter skirts 
The days of blue and white uniforms 

Forming the tiled walls of cruel siren songs 

And silencing of the shipwrecked  

Heavy white shoes dragging across 

Sea beds with an anchor tied to soft feet

Metal buttons counting lives left onboard


Merely muscled 



Tightly into a 


Fist that floats within 


Boundaries of 

The ash white rib cage 


Other organs 

Whistling an irregular rhythm 

Dancing blood cells drown 

Air bubbles down 

Multiple arteries and veins 

Endlessly waltzing 

Defying the mind 

With no will to die only will to survive 

Never giving 


Believing only 

It can solve 





(Basically this prompt for #SingPoWriMo2016 was to think up of words that first come to mind, and then incorporate them into a poem. This is quite poorly written, but just to serve as a record.)

-black -ink -tattoo -skin -trace -fingers

-smudge -eyes -bird -thick -beauty 

-iris -needle -water -rose

Black ink on silk skin 

Delicate dancing 

Tattoo psalms under those lifted eyes 

Whispered blessings spreading through tiredness

Pins and needles piercing decorations 

Light sight up 

Watch it drown in odourless smoke 

Fingers trace; winged eyes take flight

Taking the form of a Raven bird 

Its body rose to occupy life 

Walking on water

No smudges no bruise 

Only precision 




Irises gazing afar 

Process of Drink. 

(Day 3 of SingPoWriMo, and discovered I am pretty bad at following prompts. Bad with rules, and somehow I don’t think like any of the others. Need more practice.)

Swallowing Black Fire

One Two Three Drink Up

Flames Hazing Airway

Burning Through Logic

Heated Destruction

Hurricane Calling 

Mind And Gut Spinning

Smoke Stained And Blood Drained
“Forget me not. Am I asking to be remembered? Or just permission to be the ghost in your bones?”

In Threes. 

Beginning, development, and finally the ending. Is that how all stories have to be? 

A weary heart here

Tug hard and pull at the air 

Nothing is left now 
Hot tears rolling down 

Dried lips sealed with waning love

Disappointment stained
She said, “Just be friends.”

Nothing more and nothing less

He said, “I’ll pretend.”

Sometimes, sometimes. 

(Nobody will ever know love in its entirety. We keep trying to grasp it with two empty hands. Holding it tightly until it can no longer breathe. We think we can never live without love, but maybe it is love that cannot exist without us dreaming.) 

Sometimes it is not about seeing each other in the flesh. A physical holding of hands that all you feel is warmth and a pulse. The kisses that touch lip to lip or lip to cheek to the endless spine of nakedness. The hugs that bring two bodies together to fit like a puzzle found. 

It is about seeing the soul in another pair of eyes. Feeling how much work the hands have done since the last time its skin caressed yours. Kisses that try to translate what love can be, would be, should be into a language that the human body will understand. The way our heartbeats sync when gently fitted chest to chest and a symphony starts singing quietly from within. 
Sometimes it is not about how many fast plans, fast dinners and fast forward into the future we can last. Filling our timetables to the brim with no space to breathe ourselves. Seeing our tired faces reflected on the other and trying to keep work away from the dinner plate. Coming together for an hour or two but drawn apart right from the beginning – minds working in the background like sweatshop humans. No rest and no passion. 

It is about entering a world that has only us. A timelessness that overwhelms the senses and the universe stops. Relaxing into each other’s arms and really looking into dilated irises: how are you, really? Listening to every word uttered and there to catch the unsaid in uneven breaths. The emptying of the mind and heart to make space for each other, even if it is just a temporal pocket in that space in time. Letting the other person occupy all of you – like a nervous first date and laughing is still a favourite sound. 
What is everything? Everything is beyond a body and the five senses. Everything is your nervous habit of picking at your fingers, messing up the dinner table with carelessness and your constant running away from my prodding fingers. Everything is how your eyes water when I refuse a kiss, how you care so much about what is music and how you talk about the future but not about your past. Everything is knowing how your heartbreaks so delicately and how you piece it together again. Everything is knowing how you like being traced in bed, like an undiscovered island and the moans you whisper when you want more. Everything is intimacy inside and out, a forwardness and honesty with all masks abandoned. 
Being naked of the mind, the heart, the spirit and revealing first through the first layer of just a body. 
Sometimes it is not about whose fault is it and the things that went wrong. 

It is about the tiredness, the reflecting and the need to look at ourselves before looking at each other for comfort. It is about finding a love lost and remembering. 

Remembering what we had, what we have and what we should be having. 

Remembering what is it that we are fighting for, before the goodbye kiss. 
A kiss can just be a kiss. 

Or it can be the thread that promises us a home forever.