heaven

as he-Matthais-lay

lay quietly

restlessly

waiting

waiting for death

he wondered

what heaven would be like.

/

Then he lay still

and tried,

tried to think

of younger days

days gone past

of what he-Matthais-

wanted

heaven to be like.

/

then it

came.

it came.

/

that with which

cliches

describe as

"life... flashing...

before... me... "

/

flashing.

/

No.

that feeling of it all

coming full circle

of it all

making sense.

/

Then he-Matthais-he,

in the soft darkness

smelt first

smelt first the sweetness

of freshly-cut grass.

/

and felt its dewey blades

tickle his bare feet.

/

felt them, them, behind him

gazing at him

full of love.

still there

still in his bed

dying.

/

but oh, so wondrous

oh, so everywhere.

it was everything he wanted

everything he had dreamt

indeed, it was a dream

for each man dreams his own heaven.

/

it stretched

stretched

into God

into eternity.

Waiting

Who are we but waiters
Upon oblivions edge?
Where is our Eurydice
Our Odysseus, Our
Henry?

The lost lover, beyond
away.
Out there somewhere, her
presence
is real, felt
accentuating her absence in our now.

A time traveller,
random, uncertain, yet
the only thing we know.

We shuttle through life
Oh, its wicked and lonely
ebbs
Waiting.

Our eyes stare into the
nothingness the void the
absurdity
of it all.
Yet we cling.
Because we believe
beyind all measure
that she's out there.
Somewhere.

And oh,
what bliss
what ecstasy
what sheer joy
she would bring.
If only she came.
Alas for now,
only emptiness.

We waiters watch
wait
yearn
wait an eternity
for moments,
fleeting seconds,
yet
it is all worth while.

Is it all
gone
past
behind me?

Something that touched me
touched me so,
yet something
I can never touch again?

God, help me
Help me find find her.
Help me wait.

Of Youth

Ah! We are but young
That thing so elusive
So desirable, so
epheral

In time, our youth, our
beuty shall fade
In time, we will grow
and change
and change.

In time, our bright days
Would be confined
comfined
to a definite past
A memory we struggle to
keep.
In time.

Yet, now we shine
Noe we smile
Now we think not
of those years creeping
of those times that seem
so far away.

Now, we are bright
Now, we are young
Now, we have everything
And nothing can stop us.

A Murder And A Death And A Life

"And while she wishes she was a dancer

And that she’d never heard of cancer

She wishes God would give her some answers

And make her feel beautiful."

--Innocent, by Our Lady Peace.

There she lay. Still. Young. Dead. Alone in a large dark theatre, sprawled elegantly across the stage. She always did have such grace.

Cher could not believe her eyes, she simply stared, blinking hard. Still, Cher looked intensely upon her friend, as if looking somehow make her see that the deep red were just scarlet cloths, like in another one of her many plays. Jules always was alive, fiery, brave. An actress, an insurrectionist, a rebel. Somehow, what she lacked in looks, Jules made up for in charm, grace and imagination. And such imagination she had.

Perhaps it was all meant to end in this way. Her death did strangely mirror her life; dramatic, elegant, and red. Theatric and poetic to the end. Cher always wondered if Jules did it all simply to feel beautiful, since she could not look it. Well, it was too late to know that now. After all, Cher would not want to dishonour the dead.

And as dear dear Jules lay there, still, young, and dead, in a most peculiar way, she was beautiful.

Fin

daydreaming

I saw a cloud within the sand
Beneath my boots today.
It took me to another land
That was pink and blue and grey.

A mystery, the night of stars
And quite a strange melancholy,
That strummin' on my teak guitar
Would spell my greatest folly.

For in that land as bright as light
Sing out, oh we could not.
We yearned and waited for the night,
When light was light, no more.

The princes, horses and their foxes
Chased me down that road,
With my teak guitar and lacquer boxes
Filled with quite a precious load.

In the Land of Dreams and Sand and Cloud
I ran from the bright lights
And from wicked men in holy shrouds
While orchids bloomed within my sight.

And then, as if by magic chance,
Saved by my guardian's chalice,
To sing the praise of circumstance
With my guitar, against their malice.

Lances, swords, and spears of death
Fell upon me that hour.
And then, faith filled, (I had some left.)
I sang that hymn of p'wr.

So those same clouds, to me they came,
The ones of pink and blue and grey.
They shielded me with shadows tame
In a stange and quiet way.

But still I shut my eyes in fear,
Tho' fear itself feared them no more.
They beckoned me to open, dear!
And hide in dreams no more.

green on green and gray

a leaf fell in a tank today
of different shades of green
soft and supple tendons
rest upon rigid heavy steel.

green, transient.
youth, passing.
thoughts flood as
engine rumbles and
steel chassis roars along
violently

strength, could it be?
in unlikely tenderness
cool soft alive
in a dream, within
vulgar noises and coarse shambles

don't wake me up.

Dust and Echoes.

the old old School Hall
was bigger than i remembered.
it stretched beyond, behind, and high up.
dusty cold walls holding
dustier memories.

the old old School Hall
was bigger than i remembered.
larger than life, it seemed
days of granduer behind her
when dreams and voices
cluttered her veins.

now, the cracks and crevices can hear
no more laughter.
but somehow i know that she
must still remember
youth, a fluffy pink cloud
that once was, alas

clouds are transient.

and i bid the old old School Hall
one last farewell-
too small a tribute to
too large a hall.
she seems to echo, ever so softly.
or maybe it's just me.

stepping out slowly
i leave a sigh behind.

A Night Of Ten Thousand Tales

Sheesha puffs waft coyly, curling,
wrapping in warmth
Heady and seductive
A woman's flesh pressed against
His Trunket of True Treasures, beholding
dreams of old

that waft

coyly, seductively

as the fragrant sheesha clouds.

And clouds are never

Quite the same.

His gaze turns from the steady beat

of writhing flesh and perilous

Quests for silver, to the

fragrant mystery, heartbroken.

they were gone

taxiride

He tells me
About how he used to be a seaman
And see the world;
Shanghai, Guangzhou,
Europe, Africa.

Then he tells me about how, well,
he still gets to travel now
And see
Pasir Ris, Hougang,
and Bedok.

A chuckle follows
Sincerity painted
In lines of sacrifice.
Humour salted
In teeth, incomplete.
A chuckle.
Resignation
and sweet surrender.

Peaceful sodium lamps
Whiz by.

Praise and Worship

There in that room
On that hour of that night
Was a little space, just
a little space
She could
call her own.

In the warm glow
of yellowed OHP light
And the warmer company of friends,
She sings and feels
God.

embracing her, as the
night
envelopes her,
a velvet quilt.

"Hush," He whispers, "I am here."
And for that moment,
everything
that worries, that tenses, that puts down,
dissolves
For that moment, her eyes
open.
For that moment, she feels
safe
warm
protected.

And soars.
Free.

short poems inspired by NS

Alpha

Materialistic
Capitalistic
Chauvanistic
Egotistic
Pig.


Cup Noodles (a haiku)

Camaraderie,
Add water and MSG
And hearty laughter.


Black

You can
Kiwi my boots,
My shoes and
My belt
But you can't
Kiwi my soul.

poems that are some how related. somehow.

1.
Reflections

As I look upon the vastness of history;
the breadth, the depth of it,
I am forced to look at

myself

and wonder
how and where and why
do I fit in?

2.
This one's for you.

Throw a pebble
into the vast ocean
and it joins
all the other pebbles

ever thrown in.

3.
And I wonder.

Breathe a sigh
Just a warm, quiet sigh
Or perhaps heave a loud heavy one.

Let your breath
And all the sadness,
hopes dashed,
loves lost,
it carries

join

all the rest of the sighs
ever breathed.
And perhaps, just perhaps, you'll find
A measure of peace.

4.
About the romantic in me?

Lie with me
here
now
together.

under the starlit sky
under the same velvet blanket,
the same glorious fresco,
the same

mystery,

that wishers, and hopers
wisemen, and thinkers
fools, and dreamers
lovers, and the ones they love, had loved, and always
loved,
of all time
had lay under
and wondered.

Lie with me.

tears in heaven

It's brutal here. Here where
a bitter war rages
against muggers and calories and repitition. And time.
Time is the most brutal of them all.

Yet the girls, they yearn
they yearn to come to the front,
to the Glory and Honour
Of pretty girls in pretty cars
with pretty plastic perfumed pencils
packaged in pink plastic wrappers,
And plastic smiles.

Yes, they send their daughters
here to fight, in a place where her
soul will die.

Eunice cried in the toilet today,
Locked herself in the cubicle, her inner sanctum.
We would have been with her. Really, we would.
But we had a lecture at three.
And Mrs Tan said:
"die die, cannot miss..."

At least Julia was there, to
put her finger down her throat.
To expel those vile calories. Please don't blame her.
She needs that. She needs to
cling, ever so tightly
to a glimpse of
heaven?

Oh, and by the way, Charmaine cut herself today. To feel
something
anything
It must have been
Her second abortion.

And as for me, I went home
And in those wee hours of twilight
Between Chem and Math
In that little space I could call mine,
I treated myself

To glance in the mirror
And cry.

on nostalgia

fade

it's sad how
treasured memories
slip away
slowly
ever so slowly
like a lover you want to hold
fading.


dearest dear diary

a writing,
an attempt to preserve
the unpreservable
tenderly.

jog

as i run

only the pace lingers.

the mind quiets

but the heart races.

recollections

flood the soul

like the wind beating upon me.

the day's truimphsand failures;

yes, failures,

rush through me

comforting me.

and then i feel God

in the embrace of the cool night

singing.

Coins

He simply sits there
Gazing by the old fountain
Down by 37th street and 8th Avenue
As the bustling multitude of life
Shuffels by.
Sometimes can't help but wonder
Between the mouldy cracked fountain
And the tired old man
Which is the monument?

And he sits there still
Patiently waiting for when the hustle, every once in a while
Stops.
And breathes.

Today that breath
Took the form of a young man
A go-getter
Sporting a sharp Ralph Lauren Jacket
Sprinting between his executive job
And his trophy wife.

When the young man just stops
And the hustle around him fades
And he has that same familiar look in his eyes.
The same look everyone has
When they
Stop.
Staring back at the old moument.

The young man reaches deep into his deep pocket
Brimming with dimes, quarters and dollars
And pulles out a single nickel
Closes his eyes
Draws his breath
And tosses it ito the old fountain.

There ends the brief relationship
Between the old and the new
As the young executive rejoins the city bustle
And the old man slowly
Reaches into the fountain
Picking that single nickel
And puts it into his little collection box
A jar of coins.

Friends Forever

It's funny how
Our memories never seem to grow old.
While our hands get more calloused
Face gets more chiselled
And hair grows in the weirdest places
You still stay as innocent as ever
In my heart.

Somehow I still remember your cute ponytails
Your young face and fair skin
And the way your eyes twinkle
Whenever you smiled.

And it's funny how
The multi-coloured inks
Spread in a bold chilidish font all over my autograph book
Never seem to lose their bright colour.
The "Friends 4ever"
Scribbled on the day we parted
Still shines brightly.

It's funny how
All the rest of my photographs yellow
Yet the ones with you in it
Stay as fresh as ever.

It's funny how
I can so vividly recall every childish joke
We laughed at together
All those years ago
And still laugh to myself
Tenderly.

And you know what?
Here's the funniest part.
When I finally do see you again
After all these years
You're not quite that little girl anymore
Not quite so bubbly
Not quite so warm.

And somehow
When I look back from here
The colourful words in my autograph book
Seem to have faded slightly,
The photos seem to have
Yellowed.

And the memories of that day
When we pinky-promised to stay
Friends Forever
Seemed so much more distant.

haikus

1.Playing hide-and-seek
Sunlight flickers, blackened leaves
Teasing as i pass.

2.Angsana seeds have
Drifted onto the pavement.
Warm evening sighs.

3.Across the blue sky
White clouds sail by and I ask:
Will we meet again?

4.An effervescence
Rises, rises beyond me,
Too many bubbles.