Poems - Fragment Thoughts

Tethered Cord

Those who came here with their steps be followed

By the gesture of the wind, only to be greeted by the door

Those who do not come,

Only to silence those with borrowed hearts.

Where are thou Gods, so just?

Shall I pretend that these hands be murderous?

Shall I pretend that this mouth is treacherous?

Who will I become, shall I see this bloodbath over?

Before the Grim touches me

I’ll rotate around the click of the clock’s tick

Tired of looking at this moulded form

I’ve longed to be, who I wished to be.

Mirror, mirror, on the wall

Have I’ve fallen into those dreadful pitfalls?

For the sun will not shine forever,

For the moon is not always incandescent,

And I’m only just existing.

I reminisce,

Where are thou Gods, so just?

A black dove lacking in innocence.

Blinded, with prescriptions to provide lies,

Only to live in ignorance.

My Dear Malaysia

Tick tock, there goes the clock as they flicked the uvula ever so roughly

As sandpaper fingertips shoved down our throats, leaving red marks along with the muscles

Dried up promises of Nirvana with a dagger tip-toeing along our throat

Flushed down the trumped-up dreams of forgotten land and sweet memories

August 31st, 1957—Independence Day.

We’ve forgotten the palms of fallen soldiers that flourished the hibiscus under the tainted soils

We silently watched behind our flashing screen with our eyes propped open with metal bars

As men in suits ripped the petals apart and poisoned the last seed of hope

They squeezed our voices,

Greedily shoved money down our throats

Snorts huffing through their vocal cords,

They instilled fear in our hearts,

And I refuse to believe,

That we’re weak,

That we’re useless,

That we’re afraid.

Hidden secrets rolled between honey-coated words

With a flick of a cigarette, they’ve burned a nation.

We let them slither inside our minds

Plaster propaganda around our fingers as we salute

We were supposed to be born as tigers, clawing through the fog of treachery

And yet, we cowered as they pointed a gun in our faces, dangling our freedom

We agreed to be tied around strings,

As they parade us around the broken land with nailed up smiles

Still, I am a Malaysian.

Born with handcuffs.

Owned by the government.

With a beeping tag on my neck.

Poison Sap

Nestled in an encased vine

She abandoned the expectation of chiselled beauty

A quiet knock behind the moulded flesh door

Jolting the body forward—a reminder of the harsh reality of spur seeds

She grabbed a handful of petals and silently prayed

For an answer to a bright light pointed EXIT

Disregard the buzzing sounds of Jiminy Cricket

Hid her face under her dark veil,

She mourned as she wrung her pale hands

Swallowed a drink of stinging grief till her throat burns

And her body swayed under the blurred moonlight

Her mouth twisted in agony as she staggered down the rabbit hole

Let herself grew accustomed to the dark

And she blew the last remaining light,

To witness her goodbye.

Crowned head

To be born underneath the shattered glass identity

In the scaly arms of a desperate Queen wanting to be loved by a broken King

He is a boy forced to be christened in a tub filled with blue blood

Drip, Drip, here comes the wooden prince with a half-stitched heart

Hush, hush, here’s another tale of the same ragged prince Now all grown up living inside an hourglass filled with distorted deception

Knock, Knock, here comes the sand, slowly shoving the air out of him

My, my, the prince wasn’t the born-again King

He became an invisible man who has grown tired of being unseen

People had become used to not seeing him

And he trusted the tendrils of trusted enemies

On his knees, begging for a sign from the Lord above

But He who kept pushing the prince deeper into the hands of a shattered King

Who only loved him when he became a temptress underneath the bed sheets

Poor little prince forever stuck in a confused state of a lucid dream

Will never know he was born in the arms of a hidden maid

Met with a sudden blade by the Queen who had always preyed

And that’s the end of the boy who craved, who’s nothing but a ticking grenade

Once upon a time

x.

Here comes the Siren, tiptoeing among the swaying trees

Constantly dressed in nothing but crimson

Two mounds of milky flesh peeking through the slit

She who smell like freshly baked buttery bread—On purpose.

x.

Pairs of glinting gems between the bushes

Eyes glowed with lust swirled in hunger

Watching her sweats dripping down the column of her neck

Tempting him further to sink into her flesh, relishing the blood seeping into his fangs

x.

He wasn’t the first big bad wolf trapped under the melodies of her dripping voice

She sways her hips, lifting her cape bit by bit

Letting him get a whiff in the inside of her thighs—musky.

His paws thumped the ground, purposely made her body fall ever so gracefully

x.

Welcome, my, child, this is the darkest part of the wood

Where the sun doesn’t set for Gods to see

Where the clouds non-existent underneath mortal eyes

Where the cold air imprisons fallen knights

x.

My, my look at the big bad wolf

Flipped on the other side, pinned by the golden-haired Siren

Their eyes were an entrance of rocking caves, spiralling the dream of torturous reality

Her hair falls like a waterfall, golden liquid pool wrapped around his legs

x.

Desperation—is what she had become

A heart for the kin who’s never alive

Eyes wide open for heaven to open their arms

But alas, red riding hood was too selfish to let her go

x.

Believed another would make her grandmother blink

Forcefully crammed the organ inside the gaping hole

She pushed and pushed and pushed,

But it crushed between her fingers

Tried to stitch them back with her tears

Prayed to a non-existent God

Till her knuckles turned paperwhite.

x.

What’s left,

Were the piles of unused hearts.

Forget Me Not

I woke up to the smell of a freshly-fucked room

Embarrassed, I should be.

But I miss the smell of pinewood on my off-white pillowcase

As soon as I get out of bed,

The sense of guilt that God is watching

Washed over by the smell of musty underwear you neatly placed on the bible

I want you to know,

When the branches sway in the middle of the rainstorm

It’s me tapping on your window, scratching my way in the small crack you leave every night

I want you to know,

When the tip of your tongue hisses when the coffee flicked it

It’s me reminding you of the warmth friction of our bodies gliding between the sheets

I want you to know,

When you leave me to die on an island where my heart left its roots

I shall lift myself off to another island and wait ever so patiently for your boat to crash

I want you to know,

Every time the clock ticks to another hour

The sun will set at the end of your empty side of the bed

I want you to know,

When you say grace around the family table, holding your children’s hands ever so tightly

One of them is mine.