Two years have passed
like a wheelchair and its owner
sliding up and down a ramp.
While I look at the one seated on,
I pity his legs. My eyes gaze up
to smile at his laughter. I wonder
how brave he must've been
to enjoy his disability,
enabling me who feels immobile
despite my feet to help take
strides through his words and
leap across his stories.
I remember every detail,
the book covers and their
colours in the background,
the wheelchair and its owner
on the forefront, the ant eyes
and their sweet tears, the weak
body and its strong heart.
This picture fills me with hope.
That in the vastness of this universe
a star, however small we view,
still shines, however far we be.

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Though an extended December to apply for a test,
January feels like the bucket list soaring from my nest.

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I was looking for a place
where no one could read me
and here I am. Irony but truth.
An empty home is still a home
just with memories stuffed
even tighter than before,
letting love be the illusion
I try to imitate each time
I return.

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when the comment section of Instagram has a boycott button, respect button, dislike button etc.

-

you play like a pro
with little practice.
Create a tune and
let nobody tell you
how to play happy.

-

which needs to be
made of steel.

-

When I look back in time, I freeze
into a salt pillar like Lot's wife,
amazed at my bland messages
while I chatted with my friends.
Ten years ago, I didn't have to
use emoticons and yet they never
mistook my intentions. Mine used
to be one word answers or open
ended questions then. Now paragraphs
are placed as if I'm garnishing an
empty plate— so intricate, so
ornate, so perfect. Albeit not filling.
People might feel like having dined
at a pricey restaurant and walk out
with half stomachs. The questions 
are difficult to repeat even for the 
second time, much like the lengthy 
names of the dishes that are presented.
What has changed? We've surely
learnt how to conduct ourselves with
the mind to visualise and not with a
heart to just see through. Oh, we've
grown up. Should've as well grown on.

-

I don't aim for perfection,
I'm not here to please.
I aim for satisfaction,
I'm here not to cease.

-

I'm happy watching happy faces
But at peace when I'm all alone.
I'm happy for the losses we don't have to mourn.
But at peace when new things become a goal
I'm happy when I accept people as a whole.
But at peace when I learn of my every piece.
I'm happy to discover no wolf under that fleece
But at peace with my very own skin
no matter how thick or thin.
I'm happy watching happy faces
but at peace with familiar places.

-

Second hand people
are easy to spot.
They create first hand pieces
to let go of their brokenness.

They are nameless artists
whose life isn't a story
to have an end and a beginning
but poetry to keep recurring

in new ways, in new forms—
bolder and brighter. Their
pain is like a painting.
They must have mastered...

how not to be used.

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