Are you here to book a disappointment?

Thursday, January 3, 2019

Know

I learnt to celebrate life
But never grieve its loss.
I knew how to love you
But never to leave you.

I knew how to plant and water and care
But I didn’t know what to do with the flowers
When they just sat there, limp.

I knew when your tummy ached
But not when your heart
I knew how to use my arms around you
But they just hang there lifelessly
When we’re apart.

I knew to just call out your name
To have you come to my side
And now when do
You just never show
I don’t know where you hide.

Even when all you did was coo
I knew you were calling the birds
Yet once you grew,
It pains me to think
I didn’t know your words.

I knew to chill an extra few beers
When you came home
Tired to the bone
I knew how to chill those few extra beers
But never to drink them alone.

I knew how to grovel
To say sorry and bring you back to bed.

But it doesn’t matter what I know anymore
I don’t know
How to bring you back from the dead.

I learnt to celebrate life
But never grieve its loss.
Maybe I never really knew how to love you
But I hope I learn
To leave you.

Thursday, July 5, 2018

Not your women

Skin too dusky,

Voice too husky

Not a size 4 or 6,

On the wrong side of gender politics.

We wear our skin with too much pride,

Obviously too undomestic to be your brides.

Our teeth sharper than our tongues are soft,

We’ll indulge you just for fun, every so oft.

With personalities bigger than mirrors on the wall,

And of course, curvy behinds to cushion every fall.

Good thing we aren't looking for sisters,
Or caught in a witch-hunt for perfect misters.

Because,

Thank God,

We’re not your women.

Wednesday, October 11, 2017

Origami

Trying to change out of my cynical strait jacket.

You and me

We’re origami.

Taking shape, fold by fold

Some fresh and fluid, some rigid and old.

Then a bird, now a star

Sometimes a humble boat, travelling miles afar

Fragile skin yearning for a touch of care

But still going strong, no matter the tears

Etched on our bodies, are impressions of our past

Alas, we’ll return to dust sooner than the rest;

God knows, beautiful things are never meant to last.

You and me.

We’re origami.

Sunday, August 20, 2017

Kidnapped

Dug up a silly poem I wrote about five years ago. When I didn't take life too seriously - a lesson that 'older and wiser me' needs to constantly relearn. What's funny is that I didn't even have a job back then, yet I seemed to attach immense value to having one. Here goes -

I'm being held hostage
By my own
I wonder how he has the heart
It's probably made of stone.

His legs are strong and sturdy
But his back is soft like his belly
For years, he's barely moved an inch
Just plonked in front of the telly.

During nights when I was cold,
He warmed up like a microwave
We shared laughs, tears, secrets
One's we'd promise to take to our grave.

Yet, today I lay trapped
Between him and the ceiling
After all these years of apathy,
He's chosen NOW to feel a feeling?

Giving up, I dialled my boss
And you know what I said?
"Sorry, I won't be in today.
I've been kidnapped by my bed."