Sometimes

sometimes
itfeelslikeimstanding
there
wonderingiftherewasomeway
thaticouldhelp

buticantstepast
thecage
thatsurroundstheworld
madeofchoices
thatwemakeourselves

andicanonlywatch
asthethickbarsresound
with sickening thuds
thecold
hardmetal
bleedingbutsaying
thisisfun
andiknowitis

a choice

:(

/and i respect it.

he's wrong

he's wrong

like
the mistake on a
math paper
the wilted rose in a
wedding bouquet

like
locking the door
on a concrete shack
in the middle of nowhere,
he makes
no liquid paper
no plastic flowers -

he'd
rather be happy than right,
wrong than right.

she said

she said
eatyourgreens and sleepearly
she said
doyourhomework and don'tdillydally
she said
gowashthedishes and gobuydinner
she said
makesureyougethomebefore11
she said
youmakemesad whyareyoulikethat

i say
thank you, mom.

don't look

don't look at me
he said

and he turned his eyes to
the floor, studying the intricate patterns on
ceramic tiles clinging tightly to his feet

the door closed gently.
he waited a while

before the tears came

Bidadari in Ashes

I wish I'd seen the old lad's tomb,
for now his grave has been exhumed

The naked land rolls on and on,
deathly silent and forlorn,

An eerie light creeps through the leaves
and tugs, and tugs at drooping trees

They burnt the peace to gain the space,
now only stubborn souls still haunt th' place

/yay a post. my great grandfather was buried at bidadari/bididari cemetery near potong pasir. one of singapore's last beautiful cemeteries. now it's just empty and boarded up, awaiting the new MRT line.