Lately I  feel like this place
has become a house
that people has left
a long time ago,
with a lot of sun fading moments
and timeless spells
Where I hear people scribbles
Seemingly like ghosts
from a place I could never reached
Lately I find myself
fighting this game
of hope and catch me if you can
From a place
of fathomless longing
dreaming of words
as they whisper in my ear
to find my way back home,
towards the lingering light
that will otherwise
soon be a memory
among what feels
like a broken house.
Lately I feel like
there’s still a few words left whispering in my head
To keep speaking my story
where our golden light
engraves the secrets of our being upon this broken canvas
No matter what !!!

What if I fell in love with You—
In the Middle of my Sleep—
A Wife beloved and proudly Husband too,
as We should Ought to be—

Some Favours given, Deeds performed,
Not again in mutual Dream—
The branching Faraways begin to Mourn—
if We should Never meet.

I had thought that I wanted a mug,
so I sought an adventure and dug!
"I'm just digging materials..." I shrugged:
"I'm just wanting enough to be chugged!"

But instead what I found was a Bowl,
from a 20th century ghoul.
On its side was inscripted in gold:
OH BEWARE I WAS CURSED AND THEN SOLD!

So I thought and I thinked and I thank,
and I brought my new thing to the bank!
But before I could speak I was yanked—
I had fallen but It had me tanked!

In a daze I was scrambling to piece,
all the shards that had broke, as the peace,
and to fix it all back in the leasts,
so that we don't all turn into beasts!

The mum I'd like to free some time
to meet for CNY,
I think she really likes me, I'm
excited, don't know why!

I work all night until I'm bust
so I don't disappoint
the lady young at 40+
so I can get my coin!

I ask of Buddha, and my God,
the problems of this world.
They give me stuck inside a þod—
with body hair uncurled.

The only thing accompanying:
the feather on the floor—
To know what lies beneath my wing,
to know to never bore.

Again I face my post-it wall,
just me, and Solitude—
My steady stool, my Panadol,
my tissues, fully ****.

With me: my cookies, wire & soup,
and don't forget the Phone—
For as I sulk, and as I coop,
Posture, degrades the Bone.

So as I'm waiting patiently
for Marriage, Love and Wealth—
My Sickness independently
will sabotage my Self.

because
    forgetting
          family
              rites
becom­e
  fruitful
      from
      retrospect,

I am an owl
                      enduring nights
to linger
               and to introspect.