High, dry memory throws up:
a tying of knots in a tent in a house
(which reminds me of music in grade 3
and Mrs Whatsherface with the immovable hair).
Moments of wander (or is it wonder?)
sprinkle my memory like some hopeful
seeds scattered in the zephyrs of tomorrow.
“These moment will haunt you later in life!”
a voice whispered then, which only reached me now.
(I really do not know if I’ll ever feel this moment again).
But blackjacks appear out of nowhere
(yes, that’s what we called them!
they stuck to our socks and pants
like memories we don’t want)
and suddenly I’m back:
waiting for my Dad to drive away,
with a heavy feeling inside my tummy I didn’t understand
(until I studied Psychology much later on).
Or that time, etched in black trauma,
of being betrayed for believing someone’s pain
or trying my best but not succeeding.
Gentle, gentle, over the top, boys, mighty Gentleman!
You know not what lies ahead.
My soul is dressed in black today
as I attended another one
and my anxiety is back
(I can feel its kneeding in my chest)
and I’m blinking to keep away tears.
It’s a dusky dawn of drain,
my thoughts of care just a stain.
I walk around mute
but it’s loud inside my mind
with thoughts of this and that
how maybe I said something wrong
or didn’t do enough
(despite knowing I did more).
But I lower another one
into the cold, hard soil of memory:
Rest in peace, what never was.
Rest in peace.
Looking at a rainbow
their backs are to the sun,
and this is how it is:
departing wasn’t fun.
He to the far cold east
and she to the glum west.
Separate paths for separate souls:
relationships pose the hardest test.
She felt something weighing her down
so she searched her heart’s pocket
And there she felt something gold:
while he, afar, cried holding half a locket.
So who doesn’t have time now?
Amid the pandemic.
Alongside the hours:
bodies moving slowly
in small spaces
going in circles
like second hands
on a weathered clock
hanging on wallpapered concrete.
“When I have time,
we can make plans.”
“Hello, can I help you?”
“Hi, yes. I’m looking for…”
Measured in loneliness.
Seven autumns have passed
much like dreams forgotten
Renewal: cyclical hope of change
illuminated by colourful explosions,
a simple wish from crying eyes.
“Please, hear me.”
Sometimes it arrives
like an unexpected flowering
in the middle of a dry winter.
A chance encounter, but brief.
Yet beautiful enough to sustain hope.
It’s the opposite of loneliness
but you can still feel alone in it
where wispy word won’t cut it
clear, no. It just won’t do.
Sometimes it just isn’t enough
and the cravings for something else overpowers
And nobody knows what that something is,
Is this the place affection comes to die?
Will it lie here, lapping the tears away,
while the void expands
like those black holes?
Anti-matter matters much.
What to do with an empty bed,
and a full heart that feels hollow?
What to do?
My soul is effervescent
but you can’t dissolve me
in brown liquor
because I stick like a
don’t hate me ‘cause
my love is thicker
Here we go, standing in line
with the sweet smell of innocence
and screaming delight.
Thus with a push we arrive
in our ferris wheel seat.
The light is as bright as noise,
and up we go.
It’s curious how it looks
from up here, still a bit strange
moving backwards but upwards.
The wind blows, and we shudder
but keep going till the top.
Oh look at the fireworks,
look at this climax!
But we dare not look down:
But a steady decline:
six feet under awaits, patiently
because Death knows eternity well.
An idea, a thought
like so many lives
lost to conformity.
Difference is far off
like those memories:
a scatter cushion
faded red from the years
or that curious conversation
about the touch of a lover.
Time is almost still
but the shadows still move
yet this can’t be seen happening.
Why is this happening?
What cruel creature
on Tuesday plays Candy Crush
yet on Wednesday breaks my heart?