I prefer
to catch the later ferry
I want my day ends
with this magenta glow
and jazz playing
from the floating bar
The summer breeze teases
the retiring travellers
to release a burst of energy
The bar is soon filled with
chatters
laughter
cocktails
tanned legs
burned shoulders
and nauseating perfumes
mixed with salty sweat
I prefer
to stroll along the beach
then
in the quiet
and watch the purple sky
bruising into
indigo
It was at grandad’s wake, new faces I saw. I didn’t remember or know all those people in my family. I could tell that we were related by their strong jawlines and pear-shaped body.
There was a lot of chatter and whisper going around in the room, mostly about who would inherit what, and a little bit gossip about the affair between aunty Joan and uncle Peter.
I moved my wheelchair through them quietly, and the sympathy look they gave me made me feel uncomfortable. The accident was over a decade ago when I was three. It’s not as if I knew a better way to live. I was quite comfortable in my skin and a happy person.
I removed myself from the crowd and tended to the orchids grandpa loved. We used to go around the nursery to appreciate their beauty, trim dead leaves and spray mist to keep the humidity up. I knew I would always find grandpa here even his body was laying cold in the wooden box.
Grandpa told me lots stories about his past as well as his plans for the future after he turned his toes. I knew for a fact that everybody out there in the room would hate me. As much as I wanted to live on the sidelines for the rest of my life in this family, just like the past eighteen years. But I knew it wasn’t going to be possible. The truth was going to come out when they realised there was no inheritance that would go to any of them.
Over the years, grandpa and I gradually moved all his wealth to the National Trust as a silent donor, except this mansion, all its expenses for maintainance, current staff and other outgoings, and medical treatment and substantial amount of cash would come to me. Grandpa made sure I would always have my home where he promised to visit from time to time. I was content because I would always have a home where grandpa’s love echoed within these four walls.
I could hear “Time to Say Goodbye” playing and I guessed everyone in the family was in the main hall for grandpa’s funeral. A butterfly landed on the prayer plant in front of me which made me smile. It’s a sure confirmation that grandpa was absolutely not in that coffin, instead, he was here with me.
What they perceive
to be the truth
is not necessary
the truth.
Follow
and share responsibly.
Sexy lingerie
is the kindling
disintegrating into
the furnace of passion
To buy
or not to buy
We live in
an individualistic era
of the contemporary world
We idolise self
iPhone
ME Bank
selfie
me
me
me
more me
super dose of
ME
Ironically
we are in identity crisis
We neither know
who we are
or why we are
who we are
We constantly
think about
to be
or not to be
Everything is about
mind and mood
Everybody needs
a psychologist
We are shut out
of the world
that we so desperately
want to
and need to
belong to
The continue blurring
of moral codes
and exaggerating need
for individual rights
We are destined to
self destructions
The question is
When?
Girlie On The Edge Six Sentence Story prompt – Visa
It’s been five whole years since they last talked.
The pandemic lockdown broke them apart, and the need for companion snuffled the remanence of love.
Living with stage four cancer turned her world upside-down, priority of life, things that truly matter and making amends were all she could think of in every waking moment.
She stocked up in medicications, purchased a plane ticket, got a visa approval, and said goodbye to her loved ones, in case she doesn’t make it back home after the trip.
The same driver way, the same door, the same smell of the garden, and the same bird songs, all these were so familiar, but it’s a gamble, she wasn’t really sure if he still lives there, and it felt like centuries have passed before she worked up the courage to knock at the door.
The door opened and a young woman was looking at her, then called out her name, ‘Dad took his own life two months ago, we are here to tidy up his house for sale, would you like to come in?’
I thought writing a bio would be an easy task
Surely I can fill half a page about me
What would the reader want to know about me
What part of me that I’m willing to share
What is the connection between me and my writing
Should it be humourous
Should I just wing it
Am I overthinking
I have been hearing from co-workers, friends and relatives that they can’t wait for 2022 to end. I understand that to many, 2022 has been a year of readjusting after the world opened up.
Personally, I have found 2022 a bitter sweet year for me. For most part it has been filled with the blessing of orderly and ordinary life. I have been in good health; work has been challenging but fruitful; relationship and friendship are positive; more importantly, spiritual life is healthy and maturing. These are all the sweets.
The bitter portion lies in some colleagues were terminated from employment due to unjabbed from the mandatory COVID vaccines. These same colleagues who put their hands up to work through the first lockdown, to hold the fort, to maintain service to our customers while others stayed home to avoid getting infected. I missed the chance to say goodbye to them. Part of me know that they are doing well because they are people of principle and of faith. I had the fortune to work with them and I miss them.
2023 is looking like a fruitful year for me. A couple of my submissions got accepted for publishing early in the year. I am also getting a collection of micro fiction published, plus a painting and poetry collection (in collaboration with an Australian painter) is in final version.
Thank you, my readers and friends, for your support by reading, liking and interacting with me on this platform. You truly encourage and inspire me to continue to write poetry and micro stories. I wish you a 2023 filled with exceeding joy.
Love and respect,
Cassa Bassa
I’d have loved a plantation of bamboo
to shield me from the rough weather
and chaos of the world
But I’m content with a little blue clump
shooting up narrow leaves on skinny legs
A cup of tea
a good book
for great company
Life is full
This poem is dedicated to readers who are feeling lonely, depressed and hopeless. You have strength left in you to reach out, to dial the number and say ‘I’m not ok’.
the crowded room
is suffocating
comprehension of conversation
is fading
nodding
avoiding eye contcact
diminishing in chatter
and laughter
party is over
quick
shut the door
make myself small
curl up in a ball
sleep is not coming
live life vicariously
through social feeds
play some music
read some poetry
fighting loneliness
alone
the morning sun
is way too bright
red eyed
sallow skin
coffee tastes bland
not hungry
lack of will
to face the day
should check the mailbox
someone may wave
smile
and says Hi
it’s so worth getting up
step out
to see
hear
and
feel again
the door is locked
two metres is too far away
my will is too short-lived
rescue is too distant
drowning further down
into the whirlpool
of nothingness
on Boxing Day
Flicker of Thoughts 