The Coffeeshop Cabinet February 2, 2010

Rulers of our own closed space.
Our Politics, a brand of fire.
We disagree to agree,
Finally, a consensus that we should only disagree.
Back to square one.
This, our own..
A devilishly deficient democracy.
Resembling many a high private room.

Over a cuppa, diluted much,our debates.
Oh not the atas, franchised, over-priced brew.
The Uncle-ah-kopi-KAO-Siew-tai-satu kind.
Too much happens, yet too little happens
In our Coffeeshop Cabinet,
Tucked into that safe comfy corner..
One we have come to hold dear and love.
One we must defend in years to come.

Rumble in the Jungle January 28, 2010

I am the parched survivor crushed and waiting
I am that man looking for the light at rubble’s end.
I am the naked looter, arms bound, skin torn.
I am the poorest woman in these waters
I am the only child born from a slaves’ rebellion.
I am now, the carrier of this burden called freedom.
I am the 150,000 killed.
I am the 1 million homeless.
I am Haiti, reporting from Port au Prince.

How long shall I be the master of my fate?
How long, the captain of my soul?

Come save me.

PS. Thanks for the $50,000

The Middle Child December 30, 2009

One gate closes but the other opens.
Waking from his soiled sanctum,
Brushing along the parked car,
He leaves too much a stain to miss now.

Never my favourite,
Floating in the middle.
The other two were fragments of better times.
The youngest, my darling, a gift of sorts.
A gory end witnessed one abrupt morning.
The oldest, our first, carrier of Yishun memories.
Never got to see him go.

And yet, you have been a most faithful companion.
You never stopped trying.
As I run after you in my PJs
As I wash you
As I say goodnight to you after a late night
A new bond, An old affection.

You are my Marley.
You are my world’s worst dog.
My Bheem boy.
Don’t leave too soon.
Stay a little while more.

From the Worm, with Love. December 28, 2009

O Rose, thou art truly sick!
A howling storm ’twas
When this wayward, way-less worm
Sought comfort on your crimson bed.

Now the gray clouds clear
And your sun shines bright and white.
A wonderful splendour of true colours reveal.
Blackening at the edges, petals bleed a dull red.
Such was the intoxication of a falsity well crafted.
Even your scent not worth a whiff now.
As your obscure beauty recedes into the abyss,
“What is beauty really?” wonders the worm

O Wilting Rose,
Careful as the bright, white Sun burns you.
Eyes open, the worm now crawls on and away,
Exhausted but
In gratitude for a costly lesson.
A part of its soul murdered
By your dark and secret illusion.

O Darling Rose
No more special;
You just seem like something in a bush of many now.

(a twisted adaptation of William Blake’s ‘A Sick Rose’)

Crossing Borders and Tick Tocks December 17, 2009

Pitter Patter

More like splat then, splatter.

An effort for a spotless car now in vain,

Flowing into some drain.

But carrying deep memories,

These scarring drops transcend borders and tick tocks..

Lonely walks through midnight Prague,

An autopsy of those devilish nights

Stinking of flesh and spirits,

I thank God, I’m still here.

Exploring Buda Castle and Pesht through the chills

Hungary’s communist past unravelling in the mist.

Sips of coffee and cheap rum keep the fleeting heat.

I thank God again, I was there.

Heavy showers in the jungles of Ubin and Tekong

Toiling for the man beside, my selfish world disappears

Sporting youth at the hockey pitch in Geylang Bahru

Days of carelessness and true happiness

I thank God for teaching me lessons of brotherhood.

For God is in the rain

Said Guy Fawkes’ imposter

Many times that Mantra played

Just before the exams had my head flayed.

Thank you for being there.

And tonight before I sleep,

These memories flood my head

As a pitter patter starts on my roof,

A lullaby alerts me of your presence as I go…

Poof.