Observe. Spit in his face, and he turns the other cheek. This man who is not even a doormat. A doormat is welcoming, even when stepped on. He is but the puddle you step over: shallow, dirty, unwanted, cold. Once, a part of something greater.
Tag: literature
Apostles
You once asked why I followed you, kept with you at all. I said I knew it was right. This is how I knew then: weights left my face, my fingers fragile, hushing breaths. I feel you even when you’re not here. Father always told me that there’s a special place in Hell, just for […]
Mould
End of the queue and start of the process. Threading eye of needle, delicate contortion of self, steel embraces shoulder. Forced myself through it: square block into circle; all to find a home and throw myself into it. The wave breaks the shore, the man emulates the wave. Wave breaks shore into grain; man breaks […]
Love, an Asingbol
Love is that brute that killed Caesar, that unfaithful disciple, that Buddhist, Shi Ming Yi, caught for conspiracy: a liar, a cheat – human. (cont.) It is the counting of flower-petals, the Tinder chats, the Grindr photos: words spoken from one spouse to another and another other. Love: it is the sore lack of space […]
Hati
warm with sweat and short of breath, I watch the clouds spread out, to blanket the sky. down in the valley, headlights beckon to me, like ships on the horizon, far on the sea. and so, here, on my lonely rock, I sit, the earth a mirror of the stars. each light in the distance: […]
Dirge
As I write, my heart aches – a pitiful phrase. Unwittingly, I dreamt of African vultures And photographers, hanging from the rafters. You see, the horror is not what’s happening now, But in what occurs thereafter. Within my chest, I still keep a canary For you – and every day, it sings the same, dreadful […]
The Feeling
a brain that needs to be scrubbed clean. burdens- they stand, idly, on my shoulders. now we’re all waiting for relief. an ache, 3mm above my heart but nowhere close enough to even matter. something hangs on the tongue. the taste of rust spreads throughout and the air: it is heavy. silence raps my eardrums […]
and the diva, she comes to the end
at the burial of cliches the storm brewed in a teacup. stirring it you reached for sugar. dressed in black, we’d come early for the opera. sitting in potholes where her voice wouldn’t reach us, the flower on your breast is undressed with mud. a tragedy, a tragedy, O it’s one we could not avoid. […]
triptych #5 (those viridian days)
i. beckoning arrows falling bottom of the calendar ii. cadaver corpses sleeping in mud-clad funeral suits iii. the green, it envelops us, inviting, inviting, back to a caged cage —————- 1. i wrote this last friday because i received the notification indicating that i had just 6 months of national service left 2. disillusioned and […]
triptych #4 (Closing My Eyes To Pretend You Don’t Exist)
1. Powerless to hurt you, I focus my insignificant, transient wrath onto a brief memory. I can only pray, that God may deliver me from hatred, as only He can. 2. Lying together, the folds of the blanket cover our exposed selves: a ritual; a burial. Even though you are gone, I listen for your […]
ugly stage 