U turn

I went down the road
Mashed a toad
Realized
I couldn't turn back.

Mumbled a prayer
Seeya la'er
Hoping that
I wouldn't crack.

Hole in toad.
Hole in me.
I felt the load.
I couldn't see.
Tried to let go
With no avail.
Hopelessly so
I weep and wail.

Realized

The only way out
Was not, in fact,
to scream and shout.

The hole was there
The load was not
If I took it to God
It would soon be forgot.

The hole would be whole
If I took the turn
Back down the road
And the sin I spurn.

***

How true this is to life at the moment! And life at all times...for that matter.

The Crop

Loneliness is the seed
From which sprouts a dead weed.
One can't live on memories alone.
They curl bleak and brown
Echoing the sound
'Cross the dust and the land wind-blown.

What was once green
Has now turned to mean
And greying, flailing, detached, roots.
What I feared the most
Nothing to boast
Is slowly turning to wilted shoots.

Tried to feed the hunger that
brought pain like rolling thunderclaps
With materials borne of the earth
Forgot the roots of my own birth.

Drop by drop. Sweat (tears?)
Waters the dust, clearing fears.
Away! you demons! Corruption clots.
So I might bring life back to my plots.

***

I felt empty inside, and I tried to fill it with the warmth of company. I did not realize that though company is an honourable thing, it is only God's love that can fully fill that void.

To think it never occurred to me earlier.

(read my personal blog: this entry, for additional explanation.)

Thanks goes out to Charmaine Han who inspired the third line of this poem. When we are truly alone, it is only our best friends who can show us God's love.

Through a Child's Eyes.

I was just standing there on the boardwalk with my camera when he appeared. Right over there, by the wooden deckchairs. Like a fairy in his water-wings he flits by, touching the wooden poles of the makeshift shelter out of innocent, childish curiosity. Losing his balance in the soft loose sand he stumbles with a little giggle. I capture his image; a still figure caught in time by a lens. Everything seems to amuse him; a paper wrapper blowing by on the wind, or even the rustling of the palm leaves far above his sandy head. He gazed after the wrapper briefly, and suddenly he was gone as quickly as he had appeared, like a dream; a memory. In the distance I thought I could see his shadow, but it was too hard to tell.

For me he had been a symbol of a time far behind me, a fleeting childhood that now seems to be but a dream, obscured by the sands of time. It's hard to think of life as being any different, but yet there it was, memories of the soft sand beneath my small feet, of waves that teased the shore, and booming ships in the distance. Now I am taller, more confident. The innocence is gone, and the world is an ugly place to be in. But sometimes that childish curiosity returns, and the world looks so beautiful.

Washed

In the tumult of emotions
All senses are lost
In the sea of misty grey.
Nothing is constant here.
In this realm, feelings
Eddy around the heart
Ripples that sting and bruise
Sour acid regurgitated
The foul taste of loss.
Loss of the intangible
The immaterial
The irreplaceable.

You.

Things always clash here.
Nothing is sound.
We are all the same:
The like poles of two magnets.
Both missing one other...
The pole that keeps us
Together as one.
Without it I am empty
A ghost of myself
A mere image.

The roaring, changing tides
Wear me out, grain by grain.
The feelings I live by
Lost beneath the sand
Where the bottom feeders
Feast upon the remains
Until nothing is left
But the musical tragedy
Played out by the
Omnipresent waves.

Daydream

There was once a young boy who wanted to be an explorer. One day he fell asleep under a tree in the garden, and woke to find himself in a steamy rainforest, wet and green.

The young boy slowly made his way through the humid jungle, which was peppered with danger and vibrant with life. Using his shiny new machete, he hacked through the undergrowth with ease. After a while, he came to a tall tree, one which surpassed all the other trees.

As all young boys are apt to be, he was curious. And, so, heaving his pack into a secure position on his back, he took out some climbing gear and began to climb the green giant.

He climbed and climbed, even higher then the crowns of the other trees, beyond the clouds, and up towards the stars, which winked at him from their heavenly abode. He climbed on and on, and the tree seemed to go on forever. He looked up, but could not see where the tree ended.

He kept on climbing. The place was silent, and he saw not a single bird. Yet, he kept on climbing.

Eventually he came to a branch, and he was so weary from climbing that he fell asleep. When he woke up, he found that he was wearing a space suit, and the topmost leaf of the tall tree was just below him.

He kicked off, intoxicated by the feeling of weightlessness he experienced, doing somersaults and tricks in mid-air. He felt as if he were the wind, a lazy summer breeze smelling of earth and rain.

Reaching for the nearest star, he cupped it in his hand and examined it. It felt hot, and with a flurry and a squeak it broke free, whizzing off into the vacuum. He spent some time playing chase with the stars, a little cherub clad in metal.

He realized that he could get around more easily if he moved in a swimming motion. Lazily propelling himself across the darkness, a cloud of stars gathered around him, their song echoing in the silence, soothing him to sleep.

Moments later, he woke with a start because something was tickling his nose. He glanced at the source of irritation, to find...

...bubbles?

He was now in the underwater world, wearing a black wetsuit with bright green piping to match his goggles and tank. He saw many wonders, including those that were now lost to humankind. The ocean bed was a mass of darkness, and he was glad of his torch to illuminate the way.

He met many creatures, great and small. He felt as if he had gone to a totally different world. He played and played in this underwater playground, forgetting all time and space. He forgot which way was up, forgot to check the gauge on his air tank.

He was trapped in a gilded cage of the underwater world. Without oxygen and not knowing the way out, he would die. Slowly, his mind clouded as it was deprived of the precious gas. Strangely, the water pressure did not affect him, and in this way he was lucky.

He fell into a faint, a deadened stupor. He thought was going to die, knew he was going to die. He smiled weakly to himself. To have seen the secrets of Mother Nature, and then to die in her domain. Such was the irony of life.

He was surprised to find himself waking back under the tree, and his mother was calling him home for tea. "Just like Alice in Wonderland," He thought in amazement to himself.

He stepped back into the house with a secret smile on his face, as if he had seen God face to face, and lived to tell the tale.

The Camera: A Tragedy

I was walking along the road, camera in hand, on my way home. I had been stopping to take photos every now and then, and I was alone. As I crossed the road I glanced to my right as was my habit to make sure the coast was clear. A thought struck me: If I were to be hit by a car there and then (by which time I had already crossed, and lunged for the nearest tree), what would be the first thing a witness would look for? Would he locate my wallet and ID?

Or would he turn to my camera, to see what was perhaps the last thing that I had seen before the incident?

I could see it happening, right before my eyes.

The ghostly image of a girl not unlike me.

The car, coming around the corner in slow motion. It would be a white one, like one of those older saloons you see cruising around that look as if they've seen better days. It would hit her with a dulled thud as she turned in horror, too late. And the look on the driver's face would mirror hers, as he registered the inevitable moment.

She would fall, in freeze frames, as the rest of the world passed by. Her bag would hit the ground with a tinkle, it's contents clattering around inside, useless now. Her head hitting the ground with a sickening crack that bode no good news, dark hair splayed all round like a shroud. The silver camera tumbling onto the road and out of her slack grip. The driver would have stopped a few seconds after impact, the screeching of tyres echoing and muffled in the still, humid air. Opened the door and rushed out to examine the damage, keys left hanging in the ignition, dangling innocently.

He would kneel on the black road, hand moving toward the bulge in her pocket that was her wallet. And then...his eyes would see the camera, silver and shining in the fading evening light. His gaze would switch to it, his mind curious as to what was the last thing she had seen, the last beauty of the world granted to her eyes, now closed to the world.

Fumbling to find the power button, this piece of hardware suddenly more than just a camera. Reviewing the photographs, what would he see? And then, the small sreen flickers on, revealing a sunset reflected on the clouds in soft pastel colours above the shadows of buildings. Further back, the clouds reflected in a lorry windscreen. And again, the pastel sunset, but this time torn apart by two lines of barbed wire.

What thoughts would these images provoke in his mind? The sunset of her life, savaged by metal. And those same clouds reflected on the windscreen of his guilty vehicle. His hands trembling, and tears welling up inside. Here was her final legacy; images of nature, the last things that were imprinted on her mind.

The light fades, and the street lamps come on, one by one to light the darkness. On that deserted, little-used road he would kneel, the door to his vehicle still open. The sole witness to her passing. Still he stares at the photographs. Perhaps it was all meant to happen. Or perhaps not.

Slowly he gets to his feet and pulls out his cell phone. He dials a number: his estranged daughter's. He's calling to tell her he will be late for their reunion.

A buzzing sound disrupts the rhythmic beeping of the ring tone in his ear. He lowers his cell phone, a heavy feeling in his heart. A small light glows in the girl's pocket. The buzzing sound seems to be coming from there. Suddenly afraid, his blood runs cold as he reaches for her phone.

Pulling it out, he checks the caller ID.

A familiar number flashes on the screen.

Where can he have seen it before?

Then, he remembers his own phone in his other hand, still calling his daughter.

And cruel revelation hits him, as he recognizes the number as his own.

The End of the Sidewalk

This is the end of the sidewalk, where the dreams end and reality begins. Here the traffic lights are always red, and you must get out of the dream in order to move on. The path crumbles softly into the darkness that awaits at the end. A heaviness envelopes the heart. Footsteps of people who have walked here before echo hollowly: footsteps of the ghosts.

At the end of the sidewalk, the street lights are dimmed, one by one. Slowly, each orb of light fades gently, like the memory of the touch of a finger on skin. They go out as if they know that there is no other choice. Instead, a red glow pulses somewhere in the impending darkness, like a beating heart. The sky fades from a pale, washed blue to a sooty ink black, grainy like a photograph of the olden days, reminiscent of things that once were.

The long grass here is all wilted and brown. It crackles softly beneath the feet, and when the wind blows through them they whisper mournfully, a song of what was lost forever. The only things that grow here are small white flowers that have no name. People who have come to this place have no time to stop and study them, let alone admire them. Each flower has four delicate petals, each shaped like a perfect heart. They fall away at the slightest touch, and in the darkening light they glisten softly, like fallen angel's tears.

The Song

It was a dance I
Never wanted to end
It was something that
Was worth a backward bend
I wanted it forever
Addicted, afflicted
This drink of life and love
A disease: couldn't kick it.

But all good things
Do end one day
The time we had
Was blown away
Like chaff on the wind
Did I do wrong?
I wanted to keep on
Singing this song.

But I lost my voice
The time ran away
I was left in the tide
That carried me astray
Things kept coming up,
I was crazy busy
Just couldn't hold out
I got crazy dizzy.

And now here I am
And there you are
Two people apart
Watching from afar
We once had something
But that something's gone
And now all that's left
Is the echo of a song.

***

When I get the impulse, I write. Here is the result. Kinda yuck but well. I like it.

Writer's Block

This is the place where everything goes
The block of the wastes of writer's woes
Snow white papers piled up to the sky
Fluttering quietly, quietly by.

Nobody lives here, somebody did
But still it's empty, no rental bid
Who would want to live in this place
A garbage can, fallen from grace.

Forgotten ideas, stale ones too
Cheesy tales about trips to the zoo
But among the unwanted trash you can find
Gems of notes to delight the mind.

Things once lost have now been found
New inspiration, breaking new ground
The fluttering paper like new snow
Quiet and cool, gentle and slow.

Silently now, like snow on a grave
The papers fall...and fade.