words that I don’t swallow
come out as warbled waves
that leave nary a ripple
on conscience or memory.
words, that leave no mark
on the banks, far-flung islands.
but here in my clenched-fist prayer
I know that someone has seen it
regardless. perhaps a fisherman?
a kid skipping stones across the
surface or the fish that doesn’t
know of sky. that’s how & why
I know: that waves settle down,
that there thrives creatures
microscopic yet infinite-
that I am not alone.
that waves don’t die.
that two ripples may
meet in the middle:
all of these ripples
are enough for my
small, cloistered,
heart – my tiny,
delicate, soul.



got them kanye vibes. wish i copped some tlop merch from the popup store but I don’t have that much $$ to throw around. they say gildan sucks anw 

Filed under: Original, Poetry


A member of Singapore-based writing collective /stop@BadEndRhymes ("/s@ber"), Valen dwells in the swamp of poetry. He has been published in various publications, including Anxious Poets Society, Eunoia Review and Quarterly Literary Review Singapore. He has performed his work at the Arts House, the Singapore Art Museum, and in various dingy bars.

Leave some comments

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.