poetry
Hasn't it been woefully quiet in these parts of late? Where have the stories disappeared and the poems vanished leaving behind an empty slate? But mischief is brewing quietly simmering just beneath the calm facade Until the time arrives, and we uncover the cauldron then the fireworks will
poetry
Oh, yes, there was a time, not so long ago, when I could recall every crease of your beautiful face with perfect precision its smooth contour defined by your shiny brown skin how it crinkled up into countless folds and lines and I could see the laughter dance in your
poetry
At the sight of you My heart leaps like a splash of raindrop on a roadside puddle Dances like frail flowers tenderly bobbing their pretty heads when the wind whispers sweet nothings in their ears In your presence, I am a maiden twirling around to an invisible melody My billowing
poetry
I look for her in midnight stars, on moonlight beams, In lazy afternoons and blazing twilights, In the melody of singing larks and gurgling streams, In the deep, heavy silence of the mountains I seek her in colourful marbles and seashells by the shore, In the sand castles she once
poetry
I am breaking through the shackles of my limited imagination as you show me the unknown colours of the sky cerulean blue to lapis lazuli but they are not more beautiful than the tender mischief in your eyes until now I was a prisoner of myself but you freed me
poetry
Hey fire-breather, my arm’s length lover I’ve danced around you in ecstasy for a billion years, Never straying too far Nor getting any closer All day long you cast on me your roving eye Come twilight You rob me off all my colours And splash them on to
poetry
O flittering butterfly Let your colours bleed on my petals Brush your weightless wings against my cheeks And make me blush crimson and scarlet Bring me stories from other gardens Tales from the fields you cross, Tell me about the fragrant roses you kiss And about the damsels who yearn
poetry
A melody somewhere drifting carelessly towards the setting sun leaving behind her abode in the bow and strings where the violinist had tucked her away, forgotten Where then are the verses, I ask All the stories are yet to be spun for the love, she says, is frozen in the
poetry
I am the wisp of the smoke That escapes from your lips in a whirl.. I am the ripple of the stream You touch me and I dance away in a whorl.. I am the dream you see with eyes tightly shut I play with your mind And die when
poetry
Mine is the song of the wilderness The ecstatic dance of the untethered Pity not my caged existence True, Many lands I can no longer tread But my spirit remains unfettered by doubt and fear I am present and infinite as Time There is nothing to wait for, nothing to
poetry
What need have I for a princess’s jewels When I have a frangipani perched on my fingers? What need have I to swathe myself in velvet and cashmere When my skin is singed like sienna and burnished by the sun, And within it my heart is sheltered? What need
life, unadulterated
This picture was taken from a particular spot on the footbridge over the Geylang river near my place. (It is apparently Singapore's first suspension footbridge, built way back in 1998.) I don't quite remember when I started to do this, but each time I cross the