Han

Tag: Feelings

Crestfallen

I used to be able to appreciate movies in a literary lens, naturally, noticing the finitely pleasurable details that hold a seeming insignificance to the entirety of the film. I’d be fond of the particular overlay of tint that sheds light on the general personality of the film; that thin and thick trunks represented the director’s focus on naturalism.

But days ago, this literary process worsened from a mere retardation to a complete cessation. I noticed only the superficialities yet innately knew that there was something more purposeful to be discovered, to be analysed and fathomed with a satisfying joy. I only fear. Perhaps this is what a life without lucidity is: bereft of a fuller and more intimate possession of our bodily experience.

Alas. My muscles are worn, my mind rusted, my eyes terribly dry like dead leaves. I want to wake up at the break of dawn — especially on Saturdays — to acknowledge time with an impact, to realise that I have clasped time in my very hands, and to permit its flow would be at my own will.

Ah! experiences will only get richer and we’d anon learn how to master our minds that are in seeming gridlock.

August

it’s August
a week into August
I used to remember dates rather cleverly
writing them down daily instinctively
like an accountant immune to figures

4 more months to the end of the year
4 months ago I enlisted

weeks before my impending military stint
I wrote copiously —
an army of apprehension overkill,
of terrible dreams

4 months after,
I discovered faces I never thought I had
and balanced between brains and brawn

is this growth
or is this a hardening of the heart?

today’s Singapore’s birthday
she has her progress charted
by analysts, economists and government officials
PM Lee’s National Day Message revolved largely
about our society —
in light of terrorism

highlighted its vulnerability

hopefully
after the foiled threat on Marina Bay Sands
we’d be wary, yet inclusive
we’d be kind, and compassionate
we’d be protected, but free

(written on 09082016)

Under yellow lights

under yellow lights
we blitzed to find distinct categories of love
filtrated amorousness from romanticism
marked out people who were psychotic
and unknowingly drowned the cold hall
in a ghastly apprehension

we then see that
in a grand scheme of things
terrorism and overt nuclear threats
are atomised concerns

saw that
ostracisation was never a deliberate attempt
but a biological perennial proclivity
to purge and better evolution

but we are perhaps
nothing close to having the world as our oyster
nor the sky as our limit

we are finite in desire, in potential and in discovery

under yellow lights
we will never know who we are
and oftentimes
profound analyses reveal haunting and dark visions

for we see not humans, but creatures akin to cancer cells
for we see not a sacred ceremony, but a justified exploration of self
for we see not faith, but a notion that purely advocates homogenity

19, and 19 only

was I at war both with myself and it all
sun and ocean blue
no place to call my home
their magnificence, it don’t make sense to you

to the nights we conquered
as lost souls of our society
with us we had Lana and Panes,
philosophy and Literature,
ambrosial quiches and sweet coffee,
unfounded laughter,
all in depressed drunkards

with every hour
we learn through time —
each suffering’s traded for a blessing
each person’ll teach us a lil’ something

we pull through the night
not because of insomnia but because
sleeping quickens the pace of time
thus we attempt to put it to better use,
somewhere mortal, somewhere breathing

so write,
write about our Singaporean society with a critical eye, but with grace
write about our changing proclivities
write about apprehension for the future
write about transient friendships
write about the sacred ceremony
write about college life

do go back to violins and pianos
don’t relegate talent
to rusty strings

death is anon
so celebrate in dark nights and sing at dawn
do what you do best, boldly

to you, friend
with deep love and illimitable gratitude

I knew, but alas

I am going mad, abysmally mad. I don’t know what’s about your profound and enthralling disposition that makes me want to write about you in the night and in the oddest times of day. I used to dismiss writings that dealt with emotional attachments, for I surmised them to be nothing but hackneyed synonyms of the popular ones that blew off the charts.

Imagine us in an ocean, water that is thickly charming, silent and content. I see you — far at the other end, approaching snow-capped mountains — like green light in the Great Gatsby. I wish you well. I did so in fact, without your knowledge.

What lulls me not is your ambiguity, your unforgettably idiosyncratic features.

I need to learn to smile, and let you go.

The boy who alighted at Beauty World

he drilled his head harmlessly
against a rabbit plush toy he placed
on his father’s thigh

carried a perfectly innocent white smile revealing charming gaps in between his milk teeth

oh sweet little one

he stopped abruptly

Father wholly engaged in whatever
duties his phone demanded of him

he changed from mindless play
to arithmetics
counted his tiny toes
1, 2, 3…. 4,5
and repeated silently
with burgeoning excitement

he is a fortunate child

but alas his father –
parents of this age –
will he regret today
he today
is redolent of other adults
lawlessly authorising their children to play with iPads insolently
on dining tables in restaurants

he is a fortunate child

but may he soon find deep love for books and family
not with his shadow, he thinks of as affinity

You make me discover faces I never thought I had

you make me discover faces I never thought I had
you spurred me to write amorous poetry
and elevated me
to another style of writing
that was fresh and something worth
discovering further
you were a miracle

tonight I am thinking of you
sans longing

there is so much more to write
I can now empathise with Plath’s pellucid descriptions

but I can’t put all of what I feel here —
every feature and poetic connection —
I catch you stealing glances
the world has too many pairs of eyes

everything shall be kept in secrecy
to be buried and kept alive
to be read once again
when I turn 30 or older

you make me sigh
and discover faces I never thought I had

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