Published Poetry
Love, Stay
Unread, An anthology by Platform for Artists
For mother,
love is a name, she calls me by
each time I pack my bags,
to leave for a world that can't hold her.
Her hands can't seem to cradle this feeling
that pours purpose into her mornings
and her eyes speak words,
her mouth would never be able to fathom,
hoping I will understand,
the depths of her heart
where love resides
never to be brought out
to breathe the air that plagued it.
Love is also the name
that helps me remember him
on breezy December nights,
when my hands can't find warmth
and my mind craves peace
till my walls playback clips of the night
he finally walked out,
in search of the days he had lost
in trying to rekindle my flame.
He never imagined
I would be the fire engulfing the dreams he'd often paint
for the two of us
in a space I wasn't this torn
to let him hold my heart in his palm
and not break it into tiny shards.
I am my mother's daughter after all
and the only way
I have ever learnt to hold onto love,
is when it is long gone.
Dancing Queen
Ice Lolly Review
I should have noted down the day I first saw her dancing in my head.
A beautiful dark figurine. I swear I'd seen her somewhere before.
Probably placed in the spotlight of fancy boutique stores
for commoners to marvel at and window-shop.
She moves seamlessly. Flows-stop-flows-stops.
Precise thought, executed finesse.
Tiny tag on her ankle. A caveat that reads "handle with care".
The touch of a sculptor breathes on her skin. Finely crafted bones lifting a dainty frame.
In my 5 feet tall body, lives her own world. A never ceasing traffic show.
A family heirloom, her existence.
Passed down from one generation to the next.
Often behind closed doors. Eaten like hushed whispers,
washed down with a century old wine. Intoxicated amnesia, the best keeper of secrets.
The cure of her liberation is a price, the family I'm born into can't afford.
We learn to live together, melting into one.
Does mother know that isn't her daughter smiling back at her?
My tongue spits venom now. Parading on this destructive glory, often unmoored, these thoughts are no longer my own.
My colossal fire burns through homes. Chaos is the new soundtrack of town.
The world tapes my mouth shut, filing paperwork to annihilate my existence.
And in the darkest corners of my brain she sits back,
licking her lips with exacted revenge.