´╗┐triptych #6

i.)

where was the world promised?
where was that guiding hand
to lead me astray? the child
I was years ago seems a
stalker; he watches me
and I watch him back.
I cannot and don’t let go.
We are beside ourselves.
I am a boy and not a boy.
I am that bamboo fountain
in the garden, endlessly
filling itself up with itself.

 

ii)

I am a conflict.
I am the spider, who
for fear of a thread undone,
gingerly treads on its own feet.
I am the paradoxical predator, a
wretched anomaly, feeling’s mess.
when the curtain comes falling
you already know what I’d do:
take every fibre of my being-
make a net to catch you.
unravel doubtful webs
into simple lines.
time, rewind,
unwind.

 

iii)

Infinite reoccurring dream sequence.
I am walking down an endless hallway,
one where you’re lurking behind every door,
where you’re always, just slightly, out of reach.
The spider spins its silk, the bamboo tips over.
Let it all flow back: let all the doors slam shut
and every step made backwards in time.


been a while since I wrote a triptych poem. Also, just got a domain name!(after such a long time. ) Will probably revisit and rewrite this some time in the future.

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 disappointed

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 footsteps still.

3.

Sometimes I dream of you. What takes over me after isn’t sadness or melancholy, but a strange, swelling spring of anger. I close my eyes. I remember what my counsellor told me once before: when struck with an urge, an addiction, focus your energies on visions of something else. In this case, my muse is a static screen. Tune in, zone you out. Tune in, zone you out. Tune in, zone you out. Tune in, zone you out.