Reading biography and erotica
is the polar opposite.
The former
condenses a whole long life
into a bound book.
The later
inflates a five minute act
to an eight pages ramble.
You now see
why I love reading biographies
and
why I feel so ripped off
by erotica.
😁
Category: Poetry and Prose
Love
It’s ok to feel sorry for yourself.
But don’t allow youself drown in self-pity.
It’s ok to find comfort in others once in a while.
But don’t mistake it to be the only way out.
It’s ok to hate the offense others committed.
But don’t think for a while they should be hated too.
It’s ok to express anger.
But don’t let anger become your master.
Love is always the antidote.
Love saves one another.
Choosing Life
Like many things in life,
writing is a decision.
I recently came to this conclusion.
I am not a writing genius,
among many others.
The seed of writing
didn’t just grow
without labour
or care.
Sowing, nourishing, attending
before its flourish,
there has been little sign of beauty.
Many times,
I wanted to give up
and give in.
I questioned myself,
‘Is this worthwhile
if I never see the bloom?’
But,
what is the alternative?
There was this tiny seed,
how could I abort a life?
Rage
I got scared
when I saw him
smacked our cat
and kicked the neighbour’s dog.
The punishment just
didn’t fit the crime.
Coin
The most hurtful attack
is your silence
The most loving gesture
is also your silence
Don’t Ask for the Impossible
Why can’t he just love me
love me just being me
whingy, whining, insecured me?
The little girl inside sobs.
Well sweetheart,
he is not your father
nor God.
Uncontional love
is just off the table
and off limits.
Midnight Spotify
An acoustic guitar
acompanied by a poetic voice
emits folk storytelling
of wayward love
in an open filed of tall grass
by the lily pond
Sometimes
it’s mistaken for
a haunting ghost weeping
at dusk
all through the night
But
if you pay attention
you will see the shadow of loss
in fitful moonlight
mourning for his lover
over the opaque reflection
of the lily pond
If
you pay attention
New Normal
The Living Poetry word prompt – Ocean
Cars crawling on the highway again
signifying the returnimg of the normal life.
But it isn’t normal
that life is filled with rushing,
crowding and fighting for space again.
We learned the lesson from calamities.
But we ditch them like disposal plastics
and let them drown in the open oceans with indigestion.
No Place for Rescue
With all good intentions,
he can’t rescue her.
He shouldn’t.
He couldn’t.
Because
she is not a victim.
She is a victor
capable of fighting her own battle
and wearing the winning crown.
Ode to Headache
At times,
you clouded my mind
like fresh tobacco in the valley rain.
My eyes teared up and fell
for your celestial dance.
Never had I known,
you lingered relentlessly
in the deepest of my thought,
sometimes in conga drums
sometimes jazz club glass clink-clanks
sometimes an urging storm
sometimes a leaking tap on a quiet afternoon.
The most ugly was at night.
You drummed with hollow bones.
You tap danced in metal heels.
You withheld water from dying fish.
You told lies about my past.
You amused me,
you and your little friends in clusters.
You left the sand scattered after a play.
You summoned the cicadas to choir practice.
You hid the crumbs to trap squeaky mice.
You and your little friends
lived in the fun house built on the neurons
of my overthinking brain.
Then,
I realised there was never an agreement
for your occupancy.
You were just algae latched on wetland.
I moved to the hot desert and left you all behind.
“Cry, cry baby!”
Flicker of Thoughts 