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The moon shineth bright tonight
White orb in the dark sky;
And a globe of silver light
For me to thus see by.
At this how the clock strikes twelve
A soft sonorous chime;
I take my books from my shelf
And marvel at the time.
What drove me to do all this
I whimper a soft whine;
With no payment, save a kiss
From lips so soft, so fine.
That should be reward enough
Enlightenment strikes me new;
Better than material stuff
Is a heart to me true.
I care for my dearest knight
I am concerned for him;
‘Tis why I sit here all night
And slave in light so dim.
A sacrifice of my sleep
My effort and my time;
For his love that runs so deep
Soul devoted to mine.
True love, only in this land
Is meant for flesh and bone;
Its rules are not etched in sand
But carved deeply in stone.

Insert Title Here

The leaders of the country
When sworn in, never swore
That our distaff of history
Be plagued with wrong no more.
A tumult and a rising
Hath risen up of late;
Where brothers dear and men at arms
Voiced out against the state.
Where goods were fairly traded
Both bartered with and sold;
Our brothers were as brothers true
In the brave days of old.
Then one was for a party
Then all were for the state;
Then the great man helped the poor man
And the poor man loved the great.
But man to man is now
More spiteful than a beast;
And discounts make a lady wild
And thrice as hard to please.
Such cravenly behaviour
Is respected and revered;
And spreads its quality through the land
As when it first appeared.
A nation gripped with hunger
Is forevermore in need;
Curse the hand that made my land
A fine nation indeed.

Intro to Snapshots

They say pictures tell a thousand words..

At least it'd save me the typing :)

Motorcycle Helmet

At first
It was only a series
Of dots
Orange points of light
10010101000101100101
Forming the words
Accident
On
ECP
It was with trepidation
That we entered that highway
All seemed fine
Until we topped
The crest of a hill
A whole mass of gridlocked cars
Unmoving before us
Points of red light
Brake light
We joined the ever-growing crowd
More cars piling behind us
We were just another three lights
In a sea of red spots
We were just another silver car
In that mass of
Silver and gold and green and blue
Metallic bodies under the sun
We inched forward
Inch by inch by inch
Then we saw it
The first of the red cones
Its brothers lined up
Diagonally across each lane
Eventually spanning two lanes
Two and Three
We edged into lane One
I couldn’t see anything
Not from my place at the back
But my parents at the front
They spoke urgent words
“Don’t look”
Why?
I looked
I soon found out why
Upon the ground
A white body sheet
A police car near it
The policemen
And policewoman
Standing around the boot of the car
Talking together in a
Quiet huddle
As Death still lingered
Over the scene
The car that caused it
Snuffed out a life
And the motorcycle
Wrangled
Torn apart
Crushed
And the helmet
Upon the road
As still as its rider
As I gazed
I saw in my mind’s eye
A rider
A car
Impact
The whine
Of a police siren
Then hands
Tearing the helmet
Turquoise-green metal
Off his head
Throwing it aside
Recklessly
As life ebbs away
From under their hands
It rolls upon the tarmac
Slowly spinning
In a concentric circle
The helmet makes its
Final round
Teeters upon its edge
That brief, flashing moment
A delicate balance
Then it keels over
Upon its side
Comes to a stop
As still as its rider.

Shock of a Teenager (1)

I remember still that night
As vividly as I do
Of my graduation day.

My graduation day.
I was sweet sixteen.
Innocent.
Carefree.

That day
Was full of flowers
And laughter.

All of us in our
New, pressed, smart black uniforms.
We threw off our mortars
Let the wind toy
With them as it pleased.

And my parents in the crowd
Tears in shining rivulets on their cheeks
Watching their dear little daughter
Finally grow up.

But that night
Robbed me of my flower
Deflowered me
Took my maidenhead.
No laughter,
Only a harsh panting of excitement.
Shrouded in darkness
Because we wore nothing
Nothing at all.

Tears stained my cheeks
My parents’ cheeks
For their dear little daughter
Had grown up too soon
Had entered the world
Of lust and sex and sordid hell
Tasted the forbidden fruit

The terrible truth.

You have Hepatitis B
You have Hepatitis B
You have Hepatitis B

Drumming into my skull.
Again and again.
I screamed.

There is no cure at all
There is no cure at all
There is no cure at all

Drumming into my skull.
Again and again.
I screamed.

I was in a living hell.
I was sixteen!
I was not some drug pusher
Who snorted cocaine on the streets
And shared needles with others.
I was not some freak
Who lay with other girls.
I was a normal
Living
Breathing
Sixteen
Year
Old.

What could be worse?

You’re pregnant.

Shock of a Teenager (2)

Twenty years ago,
An accident happened.

Pearl Yeo
Twenty-four
Walked under a taxi
On her way to work.

She was rushed to the
Hospital; blood pouring from her
Head.

The doctors gave her a
Blood transfusion.

And everyone thought:
That’s the end of it.

Not so.

Five years later,
An accident happened.

Benjamin Yeo
Just born
Entered into this world
From his mother’s womb.

He was rushed through the
Hospital; her blood staining his
Head.

The doctors gave him a
Vaccination.

And everyone thought:
That’s the end of it.

Not so.

***
The blood that was given
Pearl Yeo
Was tainted.

Hepatitis B

But no one knew
Until Benjamin existed.

***

It was only then
That I noticed the crack
The crack spanning the
Ceiling.

Craning my head upwards
I watched it
Traced it slowly
As it disappeared into
Nothingness.
Just a plain line
Crooked in some places
Straight in others
But running towards the door
Which opened to admit
The doctor.

I’m sorry

You have Hepatitis B
You have Hepatitis B
You have Hepatitis B

“Is… it curable?”
My voice
Cracking
Splitting like the ceiling
Above my head.
My world was tumbling
Falling
All about me.

I’m sorry

There is no cure at all
There is no cure at all
There is no cure at all

Why, O Lord?
Why me,
Of all people?

***
He was guiltless.
Still chaste.
Yet he was burdened
With a deadly
Disease.

Boundaries

Physical progression in a relationship is what actually makes the difference between “falling in love” and “falling in lust”. Love and lust have but a fine line dividing them; in any case they must coexist in a perfect balance within any romantic relationship. Such a close interlink between the two only serves to reinforce the idea that physical intimacy is undeterminable by a boundary. Instead, it is an entire direction, and sometimes a focus, upon which a relationship is dependent upon.

Sooner or later, a pressing problem will emerge within each relationship. From its dormant position in the depths of the romantic lake, it will ascend slowly as boy and girl grow closer over time. Eventually its monstrous head will break the surface, and all hell would break loose.

How does one define a suitable boundary for this purpose?

Let us assume then that a boundary is chosen, whether because of religious reasons, or influence from their family or peers. Now, in most relationships in today’s society, young teenagers nurture their relationship with each other and set kissing as their boundary. Right.

But then, what is the difference between a chaste peck upon the cheek, and half an hour of passionate liplocking? Both are, indeed, toeing the line of the boundary.

Boundaries, unlike what most people think, are not infinitely fixed. They are capable of shifting under pressure. Sometimes they move slightly, slowly, so slowly that it is hardly noticeable; sometimes they progress in great leaps and bounds onward. But it is undeniable that they move, usually without any conscious knowledge.

And this is what is the most scary of boundaries.

A young man goes to the park with his girlfriend. It is late in the night and there are no prying eyes to view what passes between them.

“Dear, you’ve been letting me hold your hand all this while and I am ever grateful… May I kiss you goodnight?”

He then proceeds to give her a chaste kiss upon her cheek, at which she blushes. Both know in their hearts that they have reached their pre-set boundary and are now defiantly toeing it.

However it is undeniable that both of them had enjoyed that fleeting moment of intimacy that they had shared. Like young children who had tasted strawberries for the first time, they wanted more, deep down in their hearts.

And the monster, lying asleep at the bottom of the great lake, is aroused by that longing.
“Dear, may I kiss you again, but this time upon your lips?”

Any attempt at refusing the offer is patiently met with the request again and again. Eventually she caves, and the monster flaps its flippers faster.

“Dear, come here. I want to pet you in my lap.”

Hormones have clouded thinking. Now the monster can see the light, see it, as the boundary, their golden rule, disappears into nothingness. With an almighty roar its ugly head smashes the tranquil surface of the lake, bearing the weight of the final question.

“Dear, come lie with me.”

What went wrong? Well, it is wrong to instantly point fingers at either the young man or his girlfriend. It is the inner nature of humans, that they are constantly unsatisfied with what they have. They always wish to try for more, to enjoy that one fleeting moment of wonder and then daringly try again. It is not a question of where these two lovers should have set their boundary either, for wherever it was set it would have been pushed again and again before being smashed by youthful, innocent curiosity.

They had unknowingly unleashed that monster upon themselves, entered the Autobahn, that limitless highway of passion. They were pushed to go further by the example of those around them – upon a highway, the cars tend to go with the flow, even if the flow is above the speed limit. Furthermore, their own curiosity at how far they could go and what it would feel like thus overrode any logical and rational thinking. The worst of it is that this highway is full of speed trap points – points of no return.

We should not base a relationship upon any form of physical attraction, but rather savour a person’s character and inner beauty. When marriage traverses time and spans over the years, age pulls beauty away like another little demon. Now, if that beauty was what had driven one to marry, would the two still stay happily married when wrinkles and white hair spring up on a once-youthful countenance?

Marriage is the only fast roadster that the Autobahn of passion can cater to best. Before marriage, it is best to steer well clear of the direction, any road that leads towards this great highway of physical intimacy. But after marriage, when two are joined in holy matrimony and their bodies now belong to each other, only then can full consummation take place. For in marriage, things are allowed, meant to, get out of control.

If traveling upon this highway is only meant for a thrill, what would happen in each relationship that people go through? What would happen in the future when they truly stand at the altar? Imagine a church, all decorated with white and silver, ready to receive a groom and bride.

But as the two walk together down the long red-carpeted aisle, something bizarre happens. Slowly, one man gets up from the congregation and takes the bride’s hand. Then another joins him. Then another and another and another, until there is a string of at least seven men in procession with the couple.

How then, if you were that groom, would you feel? Especially because your wife-to-be had already given part of her heart to these men, had touched their lips and arms and strong bodies, and all you had now in marriage were the pieces left to yourself? Only the pieces? Like a present nicely wrapped, but unwrapped by others and then carelessly rewrapped?

Or if you were that bride, even if these men were not physically present, they would still be there. Like ghostly shades, bent upon haunting with emotional and physical bonds that were once existent. Imagine having to look upon their faces again, feeling the embarrassment creep in a red flush up your body at knowing that you had once bared yourself before such a man, such a man who is not your husband.

And that look upon your future husband’s face, that look of sad disappointment when he finds out, all the while having thought that you were his alone…

do-re-mi-fa-so-la-ti-do