Here I am staring at nowhere.
Creating memories of you in my care.
Reminiscing the past, it came back undefined.
When I hear your cries, it stays in my mind.
Thoughts of you arrived
Splintered, disarrayed
Taking up spaces in my heart
Forming a milky way of questions
A map of Songlines
The Bird rose from slumber, and wandered towards the forest, wondering. A plane of bluegreen, yellow, black adorned the spot of grey in the sky. And the Bird gazed, attentive, trance-like. And the Bird was ecstatic: having forgotten the Self, it stood motionless on the plains.
Read MoreMaybe it's because you're like the sun.
And it shall be here where I stay,
weave pigeon wings
until I can carry the burdens of the self,
approaching you every morning.
“wake up, it is already noon;
the risen sun is illuminating
your ass” she says, back to
dark sky, koel in disagreement.
I check the expiry dates on the canned food every morning, arrange them in ascending order of decay, colour code the baked beans and tuna, better than any NTUC display, you tell me to get my head out of the pantry, come back to sleep instead.
Read Moremy heart runs
this body
stupid. a predilection
to cavities. sweet
festering of
teeth.
Like expanse of river,
ends of a fence:
skirt and shirt from the same thread.
Refugee calves mirroring
through border panels.
the year ends; I’ll offer myself on the sand tonight.
the tides wash the yellow moon, winking to night.
you, a coral mystery under acidic seas,
the calcium eyes that’ll never see tonight.
“… ceaselessly. a rabble
of butterflies coursing
my veins rabid.
I have been thinking about that gold
chain around your neck; what charm
dips from the length of it: a crucifix
or perhaps some amulet – as if to say
your hands are kept steady not by
your own volition.
In the beginning, I buried
a metaphor between my flesh
and fingernail. I buried it,
the way people buried my home
in memory.
My mother says:
measure rice by the handful
and oil by the thumb.
These are portions enough for the family.
is queuing in the hot sun -
chickens turning black,
feet slowing into turtle’s,
tummies churning like pig’s stomach,
all waiting for the boiling promise,
in sweat.
On that night | Evil reigned
I, Nila, Ruler | In this kingdom
Ascended to the hill | Where justice stood.
பொக்கை வாய்ப் புன்சிரிப்பு
தாலாட்டும் நேரம்....
வாக்காளர் விரல்களில் மை
வேட்பாளர் முகத்தில் கலவரம்...
முகத்தில் முழுமதியைக் கொண்டுவந்து
முல்லைப் பூப்போல முறுவலித்து
அகத்தில் அன்புதனை அடக்கிவைத்து
அமுதச் சுவையினையும் கூட்டிவைத்து
ஆயிரம் விதிகள்
கவிஞன் அறியட்டும்,
கவிதைக்குரிய
நிபந்தனைகளைக் கருதி
எழுதட்டும்.
நானும் கிழவனாக,
அவளும் கிழவியாக,
வந்துவிட்டோம்
When I picked up embroidery seriously in February of 2021, it wasn’t with the direct intention of tying it to my poetry practice. I just needed to get away from people and their thoughts on my devices. Every time my phone buzzed, I felt a deep anxiety. I had to find a way to keep my hands occupied, and not pick up calls or type replies I might regret.
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