Heart like a River

It’s my exams fornight! Hence the lack of posting since a couple of weeks back. Here’s a short poem to commemorate the middle of my finals:


Let your heart be like a river;
wide and flowing freely.
They may throw sticks and stones,
but it ain’t no biggie –
You aren’t a brook now! You’re a river.

Let your heart be like a river.
when hungry beasts perch on your banks
and scoop for lunching bounty;
well, share¬†your riches without angst –
You are no fish tank, you’re a river.

Let your heart be like a river
’round those mountains and hills (and molehills).
They may stand impudently,
but you ease ’bout them with thrills.
You’re not a pipe – you’re a river.

So let your heart be like a river:
let no pebble dam up your soul;
feed the critters who come by bold;
flow around if not just through –
and soon, the ocean opens up to you!


Soft Muse of Old

Sit next to me,
soft muse of old,
your voice is ever-young.

Warm my frosted
fingers, without catch for
so, so long,
wriggling through
all the world’s
word-spun ether,
in search for worthiness –
worthiness that inspires
ink to spill.

Yesterday’s parchment
peel dry in your absence,
and today’s crumble
in thirst.

Come dip
your genteel feet into
those black pools
and dance upon the sheets-

Until the crusty papyrus
is washed,
until upon it, life itself unfolds

Sit next to me,
soft muse of old,
and be so ever-young.

I’ve been thinking of you these days

Thinking of You

I’ve been thinking of you these days.
When the sun slips down into its sleepy hole
and fasts the night away;
when the empty sheets beside me
cradle the memories of some
body that once homed upon it;
I’ve been thinking of you.

The wok burns hot, licked by
hungry flames beneath.
Onions and garlic shout across the kitchen
with a bold scent that would draw any lover –
I half expect your feet, pattering across the
cold tiles, looking for
a warm meal, your gentle voice purring
like a kitten – but I know better.
Tonight’s table will be a set for one,
much like so many nights before.

No kisses for me this evening,
but I wish better tidings for you.
Meet someone, go somewhere,
be somebody – no. Do all that
but be yourself.

The self I loved you in, the you who
danced under the rain when the skies painted black,
who ate mexican with relish, and
everything else for that matter,
so long as I cooked it for
you, the you who tapped her feet
lightly with a half-smile on the lips
when I play a half-baked love song on that
ancient guitar. Because who else could you be?

Even when these memories fade, I
imagine that in someone else’s embrace
you smile with that half-smile, and
light their world away. You, who would
make anybody’s day – I’ve been thinking of you
these days.