Nilsa Lopez Jan 5

and if i say i love you
i mean i love myself.

Anam Dec 2017

The Walls

That day when I sighed
Holding the hand of my love
And closing my eyes...

The cracks on my wall - yellow and pale
Took me on a journey where I inhaled, memories.

The hands that held me too tight,
Like the walls enclosing me in my sight,
And as they walk nearer to me
I could feel the paint, the mould, the cement..

And as I inhaled it, it was too much, too near,
Taking away something very dear,
My respect lay in shards and every piece I collected pierced my heart.

There was no where to go,
No lanes to escape in to, no boats to row
Through this river drowning me,
Taking me away from the shore

The walls now a part of me
And I hanged like a picture for the world to see
Admire or sympathise, tragedy or lies,
Everyday I breathed the same fear and cries...

Till I was dropped one day
The frame no more allowed to stay
The pieces I picked, my dignity a broken stick,
My soul, a paper with words written all over
Till I reached..

I reached a cliff where my tragedies were only a whiff of air,
And my soul was not my own
But expanded and stretched by a force unknown

With my scars displayed as stars
And I the sky, too high to be touched
Too beautiful to be enough
For my stories to be told
And my scars to unfold
For the world to see, forever.

Chin-Hooi Ng Dec 2017

Night

thick with serenity

and ink

moon atilt

tinging shades of soft light

endless Milky Way

stars are free to flash

loneliness is quiet

outside the curtain of old dream

thoughts are chasing the clear waves

of time

the mind is learning

to be simple and happy

free and easy

same piece of sky

can be outlined with different brushes

same touch of moonlight

can be traced with different emotions

a touching scenery

every constellation is a bright song

to a warm heart

and every cloud a blooming flower

a euphuistic affair at leisure time

a jaunt to chapters of inked serenity

flipping through moods

reading through the heartfelt

ecstasy.

Chin-Hooi Ng Dec 2017

Wings of dusk

in the abyss of light

red filmy clouds dyeing the horizon

the sea quivering

a golden thread

winding in midair

sun setting slowly

breeze blowing gently

night is silence

lighthouse is lit

the distance

is bright.

Chin-Hooi Ng Dec 2017

Less of the hustle and bustle

of the past

shuttling padestrians

dead leaves

winter

sun with open arms

quiet street

a crowd of school children

a game of chess

sleeping barley

sunlight is the key

to lighting up

the mood.

Chin-Hooi Ng Dec 2017

Mottled paints mixed

cold wind on a palette

daubed on the gray sky

where cold wind transits

clouds

a touch of winter

people on the bridge

counting birds

silently.

Chin-Hooi Ng Dec 2017

Darkness breaks into houses

people are poisoned

by it

asleep in the middle of the night

they know not the ambition of darkness

they are smiling sweetly

dark night is roaring

wanting people to slumber

forever

but darkness will be defeated

by justice

when the sun loads the gun

with golden bullets

darkness will be

shattered.

Chin-Hooi Ng Dec 2017

Great happiness

endless happiness belongs to those who were born

close to the sun

the galaxy can see them

in love

walking

crying

moving around

carrying in their hands

a clock

that comes from the core of a rare earth

greater than all the unknown

more magnificent

the universe

extending infinitely in all directions

a black hole

extending downward

to the invisible

the weightless

living blood flowing

the stars above

the people living in the sky above

dust rejoicing among them

freely

men women and children

joy loneliness and love

floating

maturing

illuminating the sky with colors

they're everywhere

walking loving crying

the molecules in their soul

come from a galaxy

in the sky.

Chin-Hooi Ng Dec 2017

Livid clouds

raindrops

the sky is an endless

ink wash painting

dynamic

stereoscopic

somewhat elegant

rainbow comes

a touch of curlicue

a plume of mist.

Chin-Hooi Ng Dec 2017

The perspective

of all styles of shapes

stepping on the lines of music

spinning in a painting

in the depths of impression

a postural language

opening into the garden of flowing lines

of a model

surfacing a solitary world

outside of languages.

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