Slow Down

Hungry stomachs make sounds but some speeds
are measured in mach. So, how do you
measure an altercation between parent and child?

Heavy rains are advertised by a strong, cold
breeze. So, how did you miss the sound of tears
now tearing the inside skin of your ears?

Don't blame the weather. Birds still fly
together those of the same feather. Why not slow down?
What's the point of being there and not here?

Importance

In the lounge,
a thought escaped off my head
like a cold drip

from an air-con unit
protruding out
a wall.

It's lost
in a corridor filled with
consequential people

or who thought they were
altering the sequence
of the line

and the rest
who felt they were
but are self-doubters.

Awakened
by my own consequence,
I rise

to stop this
thought from leaving
as if a queue.

Black Sky

There is no visible city crow circling
this sky, blackened by smog, by night.
But I am here. Are the little wings crippled
or is this the loneliness of my pillows?

I demand your daily tribute of smiles when
the sun is up high, in that skyscraper. That window
glass cleaner is blocking my sight. Yet, she does not care,
of the printer's being out of paper.

If the power goes out while in a lift, don't panic.
I will enjoy the drift. Who knows? This could be
my black sky.

The Fall

The letters still feel solid. Not better, just the lid.
If you knew change, like earth shifting, the range
of collapsing infrastructure is called attraction.

Anyway, the rubble keeps things away from a blue sky.
Just put a sign on top. She is 'Love'. But, I am
so transient. And quick. Majestic.

Next, the sun comes out to burrow into thick clouds.
Who is proud of this new light snapping in the brain?
In the end, shadows covered the details of the fall.

Upside-Down

This is where uncertainty drops me off.
Normally, on highways, in daylight,
signs and landmarks are discernible.
But, this evening, the news is terrible.

Now, try to understand this fact
of ship captains angry with weathermen.
Who wants to sink an expensive ship?
The SSS chief voted anyway with her health.

It could be global warming is making things
unpredictable. Soon, the wind will blow colder
and colder until the air-con is turned off.
Hey, is not that a big hump on the road?

Stinking Hands

There are places I dismembered,
cut into chunks of bleeding meat
falling off my hands. These hands
washed off the meat using gutter water
from some neglected alley
of my labyrinth of memories.
These are stinking wetlands, wet
with all the pieces no longer
making sense. I could not escape them,
unable to scrape them off the skin
of my skull. They rebuild anew,
forcing themselves up my throat
like a vomit, or nose like a puss.

Some places are parasites.
You kill them with your hands.
They are reborn still.