I close my eyes hoping for dark but I only see grey;
some remnants of night's adieus,
distant sounds of day's footsteps
too early for the mighty sun,
too late for lovely moon
so the sky lingers reluctantly above me,
doubting ever doubting the arrival of light

But what is left of grey but its greyness
stretching infinitely over a vast void;
ever fading but only to younger grey
ever darkening never to a hue but grey.
no birth, no death, just a labyrinth  
caged somewhere in between the mess.

They say I can make whatever I want
of the universe because it's mine
but I hardly see the point in taking the trouble.
Still, if I could mould the stars into shapes
I'd make them to Jasmines
for what are they but shy kids that lay out their wings
in the devouring nights only to curl away
with the arrival of day.

I once saw a cluster of sparks singing in a nightly alley
they held their hands and danced about a blushing flame

what more horrible but the echoes of demons
laughing in depths of dark streets as they
celebrate their evils and bury their fangs
on the cooked bodies they stole by the setting sun
Ribs like bars of a prison holding the excited heart in place
collarbones so sharp they could rip open the flesh,
skin hard as leather, eyes placid filled with smoke
their shrill laughter that gnaws your sleep away,
ebbing and flowing side by side with the dark

I once saw a bunch of Jasmines walk behind a lively sun
Carried upon their withered backs the sacks of cement and bricks
On journey to building a house they'd never call home.

What more lovely than the sound of petals breaking,
dew dripping down their tips only to be snatched away by sun
what more beautiful than the sight of cracked lips,
concave cheeks, tentative hands and scared feet
the desperation of the tongue that takes you to puddles
the moment they hear the cracking of chains
a hunger so strong it makes the teeth shudder
hollowness of nights that pulls you closer to one more thievery
just one chunk of meat to quieten the stomach

Grey choking in white, grey chuckling in dark
grey chains, grey in the chains; grey sky, grey in the sky;
grey eyes, grey in the eyes; grey ballads, grey in the ballads.

That's what happens when you hang your jasmines to dry
under a sun that merely starves for ounces of hope

But what of hope?

They said the universe is mine but if I could squeeze
the life out of the sun, what would I achieve but
the flowers that incinerated decades ago--
the ashes of broken bones, vapours of clotted blood;
the nothingness of smiles, and the dryness of tears;
some sprinkle of love or hate, some gallons of lust;
carcasses of souls, some flesh engraved with wounds

what would I get but the corpses of light that the sun ****** out
the universe they claim belongs to me;
I hear my people screaming out, I see sun sending out its love,
the universe they claim belongs to me turning to cinders.

They say there's day after night but some only see grey
They shiver at sounds of demons joking,
then smirk at screams of stars blazing
but some only stand by the impassive sky watching grey
they fight battles upon battles with evil
then rest by the hanging bodies of the good
but some only stay by the left out winds, staring at grey
They scrape away the dark, paint it white
then cover it up with layers and layers of coal
but some merely sit by the songbirds listening to grey

But what is grey but the reminder of all the petals we ever plucked
and all we ever will in hopes the next that bloom are full of colour
What is grey but a mess of bodies of demons and the heroes
carpeting the deserted battle field that once fluttered with the winds

I open my eyes and the day is finally out
but you can hardly say.