"shall we?" Jay Gatsby uttered.
we took each step
cautiously,
as if we were
treading carefully
on each other's
soul.
and it made me a little sad,
that I could never be his
anymore.

like the ocean on a bright sunny day,
like the winter sky devoid of the blockade of clouds.

it's the feeling of the cool breeze
and the rain,
falling to the earth
on a hot summer day
and the hot breath
that you exhale onto
the cool glass,
melting it into tiny water droplets.

and the sound of the deep bass
of the drums
in slow motion
as the sound waves reverberates
in the air and
travels to my eardrums.

it's the sensation of
the sharp-icy touch
of your skin on mine,
like icy sophistication that
later warms into me,
as i cool to your being.

1997, 13 AUGUST, THURSDAY

You were laid in your mother’s arms,
All soft black hair and little eyes,
You took your first cry.

2014, 13 AUGUST, WEDNESDAY

Today’s your birthday,
The austere sun is burning,
Like an orange Cyclops-eye.
It’s as if Mother Nature knew
That today’s a special day.

Let the rapture abound and
Your day shall be decked with
Gold and
You shall find bliss in your
Dreams.

Orange is your colour,
Isn’t it?
Was your first shirt orange?
Fire is orange,
And you have fire inside you.
You are the fiery one who’s
Man enough to just be
Silly,
Instead of
Tough.

Your goofy stories
Never fail to tickle our funny bones.
Your adorable doodles
Capture the hearts of all.
But most importantly,
Your endearing laugh
Will stay forever etched in the mind.

Even though I’ve only known you for
114 days,
I regard you as
One of my greatest friends.

Just remember that when you’re feeling down,
Or ‘cb what is there nice in me sia’,
Look a little longer
Stare a little harder into yourself
And you’ll see,
There are some nice things
That you never noticed about yourself.

So in the noblest way,
I wish happy birthday to the one,
Who makes me laugh,
Because he can.
Hope all your wishes come true,
And your birthday cake is as sweet as you.

the incessant screaming of
"you fat ****",
"if you weren't fat it would fit nicely" and
"nothing suits you except ugly clothes"
brought her to tears,
until she couldn't stand.
and so in her new frock
she wept silently to herself,
kneeling on the floor
in front of her closet,
as if there were deities
in there that demanded her
worship.

you type:
call me
and it almost always sounds like
you're choking
on the hauntings of the day.

my heart is racing,
heavy breathing
as i punch in your
number and i
still get startled when
it starts to ring.

but once you utter: hello,
everything falls apart
and time slows
and the world stops turning
for that split second.
for that one moment,
your shaky hello
tells me so much more
than you have ever said to me
when others are with us.

you become my everything.

but then when the call ends,
and you whisper a goodbye,
the thoughts start to fill me up again
and i start to miss you almost immediately.
in that one hour,
you have made me forget
all that was sad and wrong in my life.
when you go to sleep,
i just want to die.

she was like fire
on a war path,
destroying everything
in sight.

but he saw her
as the light
to his darkness;
the bright sun
that brought daylight,
the fire
that re-kindled his
long burnt out
candle wick

and he prayed she would
never leave,
fearing another
never-ending
darkness and winter

i fell in love with
the idea of you.

your dark, messy
unkempt hair.
your black eyes that
curve into
crescent moons
and are guarded behind glass.
your endearing laugh,
your unusual talents
and fearlessness.

but perhaps if i
peeled back the
layers of secrecy and humour,
your front,
i'd find a
vulnerable you,
a lost and afraid little child.
maybe that's why
i'll only fall for
the idea of you, and not you.

maybe i'm only in love with the
train rides and
inside jokes and
candid moments unseen by you but
ingrained forever in my mind.
those little quirks that are so you yet,
not.

and if you ever knew this,
you'd combust into a million pieces.
you'd fall into the deep abyss of
uncertainty, curiosity
and the world around you
would get even more crazy.

but i can't seem to let you go,
you're a burning field i'd want to lie in still.
right now,
you're the adrenaline in my body.
it's like you're pulling me into the depths
yet pulling me out
and i don't know who is stronger.

your eyes are hurricanes;
they enrapture me in their
stormy green-blue shades,
they whisk me away
like alice
to your wonderland.

your lips are earthquakes;
each quiver
of those perfectly curved lips
make me tremble and shake
inwardly
and my knees buckle without
my knowing.

your hands are tsunamis;
they travel up and down,
a mind of their own,
aliens.
they caress every curve and edge,
study every detail of
the skin
over my muscles and bones.

you, my dear
are a spectacle indeed.

i'm still in love with a boy
born in the hottest days of summer
with hair as wild as the winds of the north.

the boy with a heart of gold
and the soul of a small child.

the boy who could probably be a time traveller
in his next life,
just inches away from the galaxies
of his imagination.

"care to take a ride?" the devil said & just like that
she sold her soul to the devil,
who gave her 40 days to live.
she met a boy on her 30th day.
he was
charming,
endearing,
enchanting,
alluring.
they laughed,
they cried,
they loved.
and on her last day,
the boy and her walked to a bus stop,
& at the stroke of midnight,
she dropped dead in his arms.
He cried,
and he cried,
and he cried.
and the devil appeared,
"care to take a ride?"

i am in a room of my own.
a solitary confinement of
my own will, or
perhaps not?

there are a few doors
around this room.
the soft noise of mild chatter
emits from them.
yet,
i sit alone. in my room.

i am feeling
r e s t l e s s.

i open a door and i
see my friends round a table,
chit-chatting idly.
they laugh and welcome me
to the table.
today, i say a salutation
and shut the door behind me.

i do the same with the rest.

i walk back to the middle of the my room.

i start to c
                  r
                    y.

love the boy who paints–
who harnesses the power of the spectrum
and brings life to his views
on the world

admire his colourful fingers
and lead stained hands.
he didn't mean to fray the
brushes like
he frayed your heart strings.

he only wants a little life
in his body and soul.
he paints with you in mind.
and when you see the crumpled up
tubes on the floor
of his bedroom,
know that they reflect
his efforts to make you happy.

you've got the face
of a beautiful flower
that brings joy to all
those around,
especially me.

when you smile it's like
I am reborn.
the sun shines
brighter.
the grass is
greener.
the water is
fresher.
life is better
when your presence graces my
vision.

but behind the charming smile
and eyes that seem to light up,
is a sad, sad boy.

i know you are scared inside,
hiding behind the power and
glory.
you mask your screams with
a plastic smile
that you greet everyone with.
but i can see it in your face,
the face
with a frown eternally embedded into it.

you deserve to see daises
and beautiful butterflies,
you wonderful man.
you deserve all the love in the world,
and all the happiness
because i see the light in you
being eaten away by the darkness
you harbour.

don't let yourself drown in the
icy waters
and let the darkness
freeze you over
in this winter
wonderland of yours.

you deserve to be happy,
boy.

18 white carriages
glide into the station
onto the platform

the hustle and bustle of
people walking in and out
of the automated doors.
some in their own little words,
supplied by the melody
through the little white wires connecting
their ears to their pockets.
some with their phones to their ears,
chatting away.
some just staring into the distance,
waiting for the next exciting thing
in their life to happen.

people sitting on the little green seats
lined up against the walls of the train.
some completely blocked by newspapers,
some sound asleep.

the sound of the rain
hitting the windows
at a 50 degree angle
(pitter-patter)

the sight of you
as i walked in,
with your wide smile
and your eyes transfixed on me.
all handsome with your
dark hair swept to the side.

and as we sat down,
i observed you from the reflection
on the opposite window
observing me.

I’ve turned into a sad poem,
about loneliness,
about loss,
about jealousy,
about bitterness.

A poem about my inability
to properly express it in a
systematic, logical way.

It builds up fast,
like the tetris game
on hard mode,
and I didn’t even try to orientate
the ******* blocks
so that they fit
perfectly.

It just keeps on coming,
stacking and stacking,
until it hits the surface
and I can do nothing but
shiver and cry in
the pure agony of it.

I’ve turned into a sad poem.
Rain clouds haunt my steps
and I fall down,
slipping on my own tears.

sometimes i think
i have a glass case around an
oblivious you.
i watch you from outside
and i observe your every
move.
but gradually,
i start to notice after
all the events,
that really I was
in that glass case,
observing you from inside,
never moving,
just looking.

a man and a mother watch as the girl moved to the beat of the music.
the man turned to the woman and said,
"there's nothing wrong with her,
she's a dancer."

i've had a bad week.

the violent fall out
mixed with the creeping knowledge
of a dreadful situation
spelled doom for me.

a field day for my emotions,
who were like children in a park,
running wild and
desperately chasing each other
or other things until one day,
they all fell down.

i was found,
curled up and limp on the hard wood floor.
tears were streaking down my cheeks,
feeling like acid rolling down my face.
tears filled with rage, frustration
and sadness feel like that don't they?

and as i watched and observed from the side lines,
i see your eyes,
and i know now
that the wait is over.

i
move
now.

the very thing i fear,
the only thing plaguing my life,
the mundane.

it creeps up on me at the worst
of times and
eats away at my very soul.

it saps my life energy,
i resent it.
yet I have no choice,
but to live it.

as if frayed brushes,
broken pen nibs,
emptied paint tubes
and ***** of crumpled paper
laying haphazardly on the floor
wasn't enough to show
the lack of love
in our hearts.

we pass by each other
like ghostly strangers
with a vague notion of
familiarity.
we sleep on the same bed,
but we're not sleeping together.
we eat at the same table,
but we're not eating together.

but some nights,
i hear you let out a quiet sob
just as i turn the corner
and you don't know it,
but i've seen the tear marks
on your cheeks when you
silently crawl into bed.

i love your tousled
gold hair,
the way you absentmindedly
put your pinky
in your mouth
as you scroll through your phone.

i love the shades of blue
in your eyes,
a deep blue that
mirrors that of the deep
sea.

all in all,
i don't know you
but I dare say
that i love you already.

"our love will last forever."
they said,
as they drank the chemicals
together.
but how long is forever?

100 years,
they celebrate
with a huge party,
just the two of them.

150 years,
they celebrated
at home with a cake,
just the two of them.

200 years,
"I'm 230 years old."
"so am I."
"don't you think we're a little old?"
"no,
we are together
f o r e v e r."

she decided she had enough of loved ones
dying and stopped the ministrations.

she withered away by
the end of the day
&
the poor boy
cried alone,
forever.

they say only fools
fall in love,
well they must've been
talking about us,
'cos we have
a love so strong,
they'll make statues
and name cities after us.

a love so strong,
songs,
poems &
books
were made in our honour.

a love so strong,
the hands of time and
the cruelty of distance
could not ever come between us.

love,
not a word to be thrown around
from the trauma of the past.

love,
is love watching behind the crack of a door
the people you look up to
screaming and crying in each other's faces,
with bruises on their arms
and a crooked smile
mixed with a drop of tension in the air
the next morning?

love,
is it being brought to a white room
with a stranger and a chair and a few toys
asking you questions
7 year olds shouldn't have to answer?

love,
is it having limited time with a parent?

love,
is it watching helplessly in almost slow motion
your father smack your mother across the back
with your school bag as
your leg decides to cramp up
and your grandparents scream?

love,
is it that boy that smiled brightly at you
every week and came out to your house
in the middle of the night
but then snatched your heart away
in broad daylight then scattered it into the sky?

love,
is it the other boy who professed his love,
only to jump to another
as soon as the wind changed direction?

love,
is it the boy who you laugh with everyday
and share a million memories with
and then watch him as he
fades into the background?

or is love
the word that rhymes with the dove,
a symbol of peace?
peace,
peace with myself perhaps.

that day in the shallow waters
when you waded in further,
you looked back
as if you knew my eyes were transfixed purely on you
(without a doubt)
and flashed your famous cheeky grin.
and as we continued to wade,
you told me to run
and i had but a split second
before your hands were gripping mine,
trying to wrestle me
and my mind went blank
and all i could see
was you,
my entire universe for just that moment
was made up of you
and i never want it to end.

time flows in a strange way when you're in the water.

oh how she struggled &
fought with the mighty hands
of the clock
which spelled her
daily doom.

where did mr. sandman go?
he is some other where &
she was forced yet again
to face the burden of the day.