Category Archives: Poetry

The vastness of the ocean
can't fit in my phone.
The sand through my feet
the smell of the air
the howl of the breeze
has nowhere to go.

The pages of a book
can’t fit in my phone.
The texture of the pages
the scent of the press
the uncontested immersion
has nowhere to go.

The tapestry of her stories
can’t fit in my phone.
The glow in her telling
the presence of her words
the thousand pictures I get to paint
have nowhere to go.

The pain of their suffering
can’t fit in my phone.
The distance of their eyes
the emptiness of their embrace
the felt weight of disenchantment
has nowhere to go.

The vastness of the ocean
can’t fit in my phone.
The complexities of personhood
the manifold glory of embodiment
the embrace of truly knowing
have nowhere to go.

the doctors will tell your spouse
and they’ll break down in grief
they’ll message someone they trust
who’ll rush to see them, as soon the time allows.

your workplace will send an email
and all your colleagues will be saddened
whatsapp broadcasts will flood phones
of those time allowed to occasionally see you.

your spouse will receive condolences
templated from the same google search
they’ll reply with emoji reactions
of course, as soon as time allows.

your body will be repatriated
over mountains, rivers and valleys
until it reaches its resting place
greeted by those whose time allows.

familiar mourning hymns will be sung
with harmonies upholding those
who can’t stand weighed down by grief
but were forced to, because of what time allowed.

those who’ve seen your history
and will carry on the story of those gone before
will keep statues of you in their memories
i guess, that’s why they always called it going home.

It’s not the smell of the brew that you miss most
Though the scent certainly does do something
It’s not the memory of the dark beans that haunt your thoughts
Though their beauty can’t be unseen

It’s not the burst of energy from the first sip
Though it’s hard to find other means
It’s not the focus of mind as the cup empties
Though the scattered mind struggles to leave

It’s how they all play a beautiful song
To complement the dawning sun
Like how the coast coral tree ushers in the warmth of spring
It guides one’s senses into the day’s fun

I once took a picture of a house on a hill
A house on a hill
A house on a hill
With a red roof and a wooden door
Bright green grass
Like the pictures kids draw

I longed to go back to the house on the hill
The house on the hill
The house on the hill
To remember the trees and flowers
The feelings I felt
In a more naïve hour

At my bedside sat the house on the hill
The house on the hill
The house on the hill
As a door my daydreams could enter through
So that somehow older beliefs
Could be magically renewed

In today’s paper I saw the house on the hill
The house on the hill
The house on the hill
Reconstructed and transformed
Unrecognizable from
The nostalgic world my memories had formed

All that’s left is my picture of the house on the hill
The house on the hill
The house on the hill
Held together by my heart’s frame
My mind’s filter
And the day’s shame

How far can a name travel?
How many new worlds can it see?
Before the changing scents and ever-molding patterns
Change its pronounced identity.

How far can a name travel?
How many worlds can it see?
Before the tugging blood threads from its ancestral home
Start invoking their mythical nostalgic fantasies.

It’s spring time now
And the early morning birds tweet
Songs of optimism and hope
Marching into the dawn with beautiful feet

My store-front window has dated
With winter’s fashion trends
The time of protest, anger and distrust
Seemed to have come to an (un)expected end

Let me dress up my mannequins
With the colours of neighbouring outlets
For my patrons have stopped paying with clicks
Opting for next door’s sonnets

Let me drape its head with quotes
Appropriated from contexts generally unseen
Maybe it will give an appearance nouveau
And get the world to notice me

Let me give its lips a smile and song
Something that may now be hard to do
Because I’d learnt the winter dance and songs so well
And now once again I have to become something new

Yet if I don’t dress it up in seasonal vogue
They may not come inside to see
The apparel sewn by the deepest parts
The doubts and fears and hurts in polychromatic tapestry

But the more my offering changes
To match the song of the birds
The less space left inside the store
To display the original song my heart once heard

The song of freedom and beauty
The melody of glorious things unseen
The secret things that have remained hidden
Because I’ve buried them within

So let me finish dressing my mannequin
To cash in on cryptic social currency
Before it’s time to learn summer’s song
In another escape from social redundancy