Traffic Junction

Scorching Sun
Sweaty Students
Bowing heads
Grimacing Eyes
Furrowed browns
Wincing Lips
Upon the sight of green man
Scurry like ants

Memory of a DEAD soldier

The blood from my heart
start to ebb out
spilling like a drop of
Milk making its way
down from the cup.
I'm DEAD.

Thoes mothers are crying for their loss of their
child
Thoes fathers are crying for their loss of their
home
The floor is now stain red wth crimson blood
and the music of the room is the
WHILING
CRYING
YELLING
of kids who are now
OPHANS
with no family and a name to have.

Now the pain had gone, but the memory
linger on.
As i found myself floating along the
corridor.

Memory of a BULLET soarching through my
Chest and into my pumping heart
ripping my life away in an instant
As i fell onto my
best friend's corpse.

The smell of blood is still there
on my clothes even through
i know i am
DEAD and GONE
Wanting to go to heaven,
but there ain no angel to raise me up
Only Devils stuttering around
with hissing and whispping
around

the darken room

I see my wife kneeling beside my
corpse
and crying her heart at the
empty shell of
mine.

Wanting to help, but i feel myself
backing away when i see
the evil smile on her
lip
Muttering, "Revenge"

My poor son of just a 9 years ols
just stand beside my body
and hsi face show
a sign of evil and anger
That i am
starting to
HAte and loathe

I float out and let myself
DISAPPEAR
from this evil world
i had once
Fought

I got a sudden rush when i see the image of soldiers in iraq....
Copyright reserve 2007 by Edith...

The tomb of our love

The shadow of you
keep shrouding over me
in complete darkness
Bitterness grip me
like a shackle
holding me a hostage
to your love
As I stand in front of
the tomb of our love
A sense of numbness
etched onto my face
With friends and relatives
as witnesses watching over me
as I curse your name
over and over again
But in the deapth of my heart
lay a pool of sadness
Gently
I place a rose onto the tombstone
watching the petals
writhed and fly away
into oblivious
to the cold autumn wind
that had begun to
blow
As the last ray of the sun
disappear from the horizon
I with my soul walk away
from the tomb of our love

Dedicated to the 17 years old me

Perfect

"His eyes is too curve to be a male"

"Her hair is too short to be a girl"

"His legs is too fair to be a guy."

"Her arms is too hairy for a woman"

"His voice is too gay..should lower a bit."

"Her voice is too hoarse for a female"

"His chest is too curvy..."

"Her chest is as flat as my desk sia.."

etc...
etc...

etc.....

etc...

Welcome to the world of

Perfection...

Chapter 4

Daughter

What’s my Utopia?

My brother asked me this question through a letter. For that split second, I felt like asking him to stop dancing with the angels and come down to tell me what is my utopia. But after one night of thinking, I finally thought through it. The answer is so crystal clear. My brother had already written it in the letter for me.

I just need to stop running and be me. This is my Utopia.

******************

It is a game of "pretend," I just need to put on a mask, a cover, some make-up and my best smile. I used to feel that each time I step out; I had to give a winning performance. A show that would make people believed that I was the same as them and be accepted into their own circle of friends. With them, it is always about fake laughter and smiles. It was never about the real me.

For now, it is time to shred off my mask and be me.

With that, I called my Mum.



Mum

My daughter just called to say she will be buying some Christmas decoration items for our house. She finally told me the truth. For some reason, I feel I had gotten the best Christmas gift I ever got in my whole life.

My daughter’s honesty.

Chapter 3

Daughter

The house was dark when I reached home. Mum had already retired for the night.
For no reason , I felt a sense of relief coming over me, calming me. I took out my pyjamas and went to bath myself out of my sweat.

I used to chat to my brother with a cup of Milo and some biscuits every night before I sleep. He was always there, supporting me. When I knew that he had developed cancer, I refused to believe him, until I saw him lying down on the satin white hospital bed. That night was one of the worst night which I had ever gone through. I never feel so much pain in me before. The feeling of losing someone dear is such an excruciating pain. I miss him so much; he was the only person in this world whom I can pour out my feelings without any sense of insecurity.

I sat on the table and caressed the smooth texture of the leather-bound journal book which I had brought for my brother. He had been scribbling it ever since the first day I gave it to him. My mum had found it in the hospital drawer with a post-it note plastered on it, it says “For my beloved sister.” It had been a year, but I have not read it. The feeling of losing my brother due to cancer is still deep and raw within my heart. I am afraid my tears will spill out from the corner of my eyes again. Suddenly, I remember the leaf that had fallen into my palm. It was a sign.

I gingerly flipped open the journal, and a piece of letter dropped out onto my lap.
I hesitated for a while before unsealing it. I started to read

Dear sis,

By the time you read this, I will be dancing with one of the beautiful angel above. Be happy for me. When I knew I had cancer that time, the first thing that came into my mind was you. I told myself I must survive this whole trail for you and mum’s sake. But I know that I must too prepare for the worst, I knew that I am not going to stay in this Earth for long. I need you to be strong for Mum’s sake. For you, you still have me. This journal is for you. Do not think this is a day to day story telling of my life only, I know what you are facing right now. I know it.

Heed your brother’s advice, running away is not a way to solve your problem. Remember once when you were still young, you asked me the meaning of Utopia. I told you that the meaning for it is an ideal place for people to live in. You asked me in that sweet voice of yours that is this utopia world. I lied that time, because you were still young to fully comprehend the state of our world. Right now, I think I can tell you the truth. You, yourself had already experience the bitter and sweet sides of life. I had seen you struggled with your own individuality, fighting your own belief and live your life so fiercely that I need to take my cap off you. The meaning of Utopia holds lots of variation for a person. One might want the basic necessities to have their own utopia world, One might want to set up a family to create their own little utopia world and one might want more possession to have their utopia state. For me, my utopia world is seeing our family living blissfully together. I already had that for the past 27 years of my life. I am satisfied with that.

So, sister, what are you asking for in your own utopia?

Yours dearest brother

Mum

The Christmas season is approaching soon. I can see my neighbours busy decking their living room with tonnes of mini Christmas tree and snowman when I am spraying some air freshener into my daughter’s bedroom. Christmas used to be a joyous occasion when my son was still breathing on this Earth. But now…I am not too sure anymore.

I felt that my own daughter is drifting away from me and I am helpless about it. She is so polite and moderate in her replies nowadays. There is a hint of formal tone between us. Wherever I try to chat with her in an amiable way, she will cut the conversation off halfway and walk away from me. I miss the times when she will come running into my embracement. I let myself into her room and breathe in the flowery scent of her room.
I looked at those pictures that she had put in frames on her table. There are a lot of pictures that she had taken with her friends. Her bubbly character had indeed made her a potential best friend for everyone that she had met over the years. One of the pictures that she had taken with was Jeanette, the school belle. They were the best of friends. They were always stay together, doing everything together. They were even mistaken as sisters sometimes.

I smiled, taking the frame off the table to have a closer look, when I notice a piece of note behind it. Out of curiosity, I picked it up and started to read.

To my beloved,

I am missing you so much that I cannot bear it. We had promised to stay together. But why are you leaving me? Can I come over to your house tomorrow?

From your lover,

Jeanette

I did not know how to react at that moment. For that split second, everything that I had ever know started to fall into places. My daughter aloofness, her sobbing sound in the middle of the night, and the ritual sibling chatting every night, were something that I had knew but never probed about.

Chapter 2

Daughter

I twisted the cap of the tap and watch the water gushing down into the sink. I held the cup to the water and rub the outer part of the cup in a circular moment. At least, the familiar routine of washing my cup helps to calm me down. Even though I might be in the kitchen, I can feel my mum’s eyes staring at me from behind.

I need a break.

********************

“Mum, I am going down for a jog at the Park,”

“Why? Aren’t you feeling tired?” My mum’s right eyebrow arched up in surprise, her usual trademark when she is feeling befuddle at certain thing.

Like me wanting to run after a hearty dinner is something baffling for her. I do not usually run at night. My mum knows me well.

“No, not tired, I just want to unwind myself after sitting for such long hours back in the office.” I replied and get out of the house before she could say anything.

********************

The cooling air of the night caressed against my skin, as I began my running.
I remembered those beads of sweat clinging onto the edge of my hair and oozing out from my pores back when I was still in the badminton team for my secondary school. Even though the aftereffect of a strenuous game of badminton is having a sticky skin and a thirsty desire for cold water, I felt great. Sweating after a game helps me to filter out my stress and anger and allow me to have a good night sleep. Now, I am trying to filter out my stress and tension through running. Everything else around me is in a blur other than the sound of own running shoes and breathing. I was completely unaware of other things, which is going on around me. But the image of my mum quizzical look had already imprinted itself at the back of my mind.

I stopped for a moment to breath in the lavender scent that was lingering around in the park. A gentle wind was blowing, dragging those yellowish leaves along, which departed themselves unwillingly away from their branches along to have their final dance in the air before swaying down onto the soil to rest for eternity. One of the leaves swayed over to my head. Suddenly, quite unbidden, a flashback of my childhood memory came abruptly into my mind.

“Bro, the leaves are falling, “I squealed in delight, jumping up and down amidst the leaves which were already gathering themselves in piles along the street.

“Faster, open up your palm,” My big brother ran towards me, his hand in a scooping gesture.

“Why?”

Just as soon as I asked that, one of the leaves happen to make its landing safely on my open palm.

“Granddaddy once told me if you happen to open your palm and a leaf happens to land onto your palm without you trying to catch it, a miracle will happen to you.”

After saying, he scoped me up into his embracement and carried me to walk around the park
With my small little hand still grasping onto that leaf.

I smiled, finally something to cheer me up. Even though my big brother is dead after fighting his own cancer illness over a year, I can still feel his presence around me. My brother was the pillar of my strength and he was the one whom I can really tell him how I felt. For this very moment, I can feel him whispering to me telling me to stretch my hand out and open my palm.

I did just that and one of the falling leaves had fallen onto my palm.

Mother

I flipped open the family album. Seeing photographs of my deceased Son’s sunny smile and my daughter’s cute dimple brings back lots of memories. There were our first time going overseas as a family, my daughter first zoo trip, my Son in his tuxedo getting ready for his Sister’s award ceremony, my daughter smiling at me over her birthday cake and a picture of my son smiling weakly with his sister after having his first chemotherapy.

Before my son died, he had made lots of great plans. He planned to find himself a gorgeous girlfriend, he planned to have two kids by the age of 25 years old, and he planned to bring me and my daughter to Japan to have sushi. But all was gone when He found himself contacting leukemia. I remember him fighting his own battle in the hospital. He strongly believed that he will survive through that ordeal and bounds back into his normal life again. He spent his time journaling his thoughts into his leather-bound journal which his Sister brought for him as a birthday present. He too visited those cancer-stricken kids to talk to them as well as teaching them how to paint. One of them, a 7 years old patient was planning to give him one of his painting as a gift of gratitude. But before he could give him the next day, my son already breathed his last breath in the hospital. I accepted that painting on his behalf and had it hanged onto the wall. It was a painting of blue polka dots all over the paper. It was my son favorite color.

Heaving a sigh, I stood up and ease the album back into its position on the shelf.
Walking to the window, I try to see if I can see the shadow of my daughter around the park. Finally, I have spotted her. She is still running.

Chapter 1

(This story is just merely a story, which I want to convey about how much honesty can pull the bond of human closer. It got me a special mention in RP write works competition 2008 and I can't feel more happy about tat...Happy reading guys)

Daughter

Her calloused looking hand held out a bowl of rice for me. I can see the purple vein of hers sticking out from her hand as I murmured a word of thanks when I took it from her hand. All those years of toiling for the family had certainly aged my mum. I can see the white streak of white hair tucked safely behind her ears. Her greying hair –once a stunning luxurious black hair, now look dishevelling thin. A look of content spread across her face when I smiled at her. As children, I admit I can't comprehend or fully realize the meaning of my mother's love, how tender and how wise, the patience and forgiveness that are part of every day. The unexpected ''little things'' she does in her own way. Like packing my lunch box for me to bring to school wherever I had remedial in class, waking up in the middle of the night to feed me medicine when I am sick, cheering me up with my big brother’s Republic poly bear when I am feeling sick and cannot go out of my house to play and scolding me like mad when she is actually hurting. Finally at the age of 23 years old, I realized all that. But is it a bit late for me?

Mother

I remembered the time when I first held my daughter in my arm. Her skin was as soft as a flower petal. When her tiny hand grasp at my finger, the feeling of love overwhelmed me liked never before. From that very moment, I knew that this love is unbreakable, unchangeable. It will always be there even if my daughter was to grow old with wrinkles and smiled at me with a toothless grin. For now, I never felt so contented in my life when I heard that she had a fulfilling experience on the first day of her job. There is a hint of softness in her as I watched her peel the shell off the prawn for me. Even though my daughter is now a grown up of 23 years old, there is one thing from her which will always be reverberating through my mind.

It was way back when she was still 11 months old when she was sitting down on the sofa while I was watching some random program on the television.

“Ma....ma...ma...ma...”

I jerked around to my daughter’s sweet sound and realized she is calling me mummy for the first time.

For a split second, I can feel the time stopped for a moment for me to let me indulge in that sweet moment between my daughter and me.

I ran towards her and hugged her deeply into my embracement, sniffing in the very essence of her. Her shampoo smell, her milky smell, the scent of her freshly-scrubbed skin and the smell of baby instant cereal stain on her clothes made my heart squeezed so hard in love.

For that moment, I finally understand how much love can a mum offer their child.

“Mum...mum...” Her voice jerked me back into reality.

“Ah...ya...” I smiled at my daughter in gratitude when she plopped the prawn into my Rice bowl.

“No worry, if you want some more prawns, just put a few onto this empty plate, I will help you to peel off the shell,” She offered, tapping the plate with her chopsticks.

“So, have you found any new catch back in your office?” I asked, raising my eyebrow to her.

“Mum...I just started my first day at work and I do not like having an office romance back in my workplace anyway.” She replied, dunking off her cup of milk.

“It’s finished...I shall go and refill it again,” She stood up and strides toward the kitchen.

For that moment, I feel my own daughter is hiding something from me.

Something unfathomable.

Something deep.

My first poem

I felt my blood boiling angrily in my vein
Running through my vein as fast as
The olympic's runners
Rate
Too fast,
To quick,
Totally not my normal rate.

My finger's nails pressing into my palm,
Making it deep marks on it,
My breath
Inhaling
Exhaling
(like the asthma patient's illness coming back.)

My lips parted angrily
Swearing at you in a
shouting,
screaming,
Yelling
way.

But you just stand there,
As if nothing happen,
when you really know,
What you have done to me.

By pressing your lip hungrily to a girl
which just hapen to be my friend,
Right in front of me,
Holding a valentine present
Which was suppose to be
Yours.
(Dun you know it?)

The sound of my present
Dropping to the ground
Must have bring you two,
Back to reality
when you pull back
Abruptly
And Shocked to find that
It's me standing there
Face turning crismon,
In shock,
In anger.

My so-call frenz wa too,
shocked like you,
Doesn't seem what to do,
As she parted her lip
Slightly like I do.

One foot back,
Next foot back,
Step
Step
You see me
(I see you)
With a flick of my hair
I turn around
Started to run
as fast as I could,
Not seeming to stop,
with your voice echoing
behind me.

I just want to
run
escape
from you
away from the things
which I had jus seen,
That you was after all
kissing my best friend
so passionately that
you couldn't bring
yourself to stop

I just want to erase
the memory
of your hair fumbling
behind her back
holding her so tightly
like you used to hold me too

Her arm around your neck,
pulling you
so deeply to her lip
that I feel like vomitting

And all at once,
When I appearm
you pull back
with a shock look,
that match mine.

And now, here we are,
you look at me,
I look at you
with a cold feeling
you tried to break away the heavy silence,
which air was dreading heavily
in betrayal
you sigh
in a desperate way,
which I know our relationship
is ending
forever gone....

You said that you are sorry
and had since long
want to break up
with me
I feel my heart
break into an
uncountable
pieces,
Ny body hurts
My soul bleeds
profusely

Tears beging to flood my face like a cup left under a
running faucet wall after the rim.
My heart leaping to my throat.
Getting caught,
squeezing
twisting
tearing

My throat now hoarse for just screaming at you
But now to contract around the threaten
to leap out and out of my lips.

My hands sore for just pressing my nail too
deep into my palm
But now to tremble as I reach to brush
tearsdrop
leaving a streak of imprint down my cheeks.

You reach over to me,
And give me a brotherly pat
on my shoulder
telling me that we can
still be pal.
If I want to
I nod,
and in return,
you give me a
brief hug.
But to me,
I found it quite
okay.

Desk

Old Scratches here and there
embedded deeply everywhere
spelling mindless of deeply
boriness
loneliness
of each history of pupil
who had once
sat
at there

Tic-Tac-Toe climbing to the top
with a criss and cross over there
Fucking bastard and whoring bitches
slashing all the way up there
Screaming of
hatred
reveange
and getting back
of each history of pupil who had once sat
at there

Mindless stupid doodles drawing at ther corner
weaving of an artistic destiny
in the distant future
Cartoon of a wizard and a lighting bolt
echoing once of a harry Potter maniac
Once
sat
at
there...

Poems of furry love written at a distance
to the right
whispering of a deeply passionate
lover who once daydreaming
of a him or her

Formulaes of Math and physics ]
neatly hidden in a corner
visible only to the writer
slowly
without knowung that he is
cheating of himself and his bright future

Mindless outdated bands and stars
scribbled of energy and excitement
here and there
telling of a long-time
history
of the table

Observation

Silently, he observed her over his book
Her tinged-painted nail glitters off in the sunlight.
The clanging sound of her high heels echoes around the room
She stopped, her pose in a perfect curve of symmetry
Her eyes, hesitants over the shelves
A lit of recognition flits in her soft topaz eyes
As she bent down to caress the spine of the book
with her piano-looking long fingers.
He showered words of praises on her through
Silence mouthing of his lip

Ring...Ring...Ring

“Hello?”

She sounded,
In that instant,
He silenced.
What he heard was
a male intonation