Us.

It’s OK baby
I like the way you are.
You don’t have to do anything
have a rest in my arms.

The world can be a cold place,
more the treasure, our little spark.
It may not last forever but
just a moment is quite long enough.

It’s alright love
you don’t have to say it.
I’m not here for your confession
nor am I your judge.

Life can be a gamble
& nobody knows the rules.
This view may not be perfect
but come on man, it is all for us.

Tears of diamonds.

Another toll, another tag,
another punch card, another check.
Do you cry tears of diamonds
when your heroes die?

Another tweet, another line,
another cross, another like.
Do you cry tears of diamonds
when the news are bad?

Tie it together, out of mind.
Turn on the TV, everyone’s wise.
Do you cry tears of diamonds
when laughter needs a marching band?

Do you still cry at all,
still dare to feel?
When diamonds become symbols
of a purity we no longer know?

At least we’ve got something.
Who’s counting the carats?
Do you cry tear of diamonds
when everything’s bought and sold?

Same memory.

We’ve been young, we’ve been old.
We’ve been friends, we’ve been foes.
Don’t tell me you don’t see,
It’s all but in the same memory.

Why are you so mad, little brother?
What can be such a bother?
Someone’s gotta have you know:
life ain’t what you’ve been told.

Why are you so down, dear sister?
You always know what you gonna do.
Ain’t no-one, nobody can stop you
if you keep on a-pushing & pushing.

What’s that in your eyes?
Can it really be the same sky?
Remember that there was a time?
A promise that brought the light?

The memory I have of you.
The memory you have of me.
They are not in history books,
not something they can ever teach.

Won’t you come to the river,
the place where it all began?
& sing a song from long ago
yet we all know what it meant?

Let’s share the same body,
as we shall have a single grave.
Won’t you care to hold me now,
while we’re still soft & warm?

Before the line breaks & the story ends,
consider this:
we are in the same memory.
We are the same.

A wild dog & a lost kitten.

A wild dog sniffs out a kitten
whose mom has just died.
After snacking on its dead siblings,
it eyes the last of this family line.

Little thing has long lost
even the will to look up,
as the wild dog laps at it
for the taste of its mother’s milk.

The dog could have ended it
with a swift closing of its jaw.
But at the last moment
something tells it to stop.

Instead it lets the kitten
tag along and teaches it to hunt.
Sharing its meals even when
the catching is rare and small.

Day by day the kitten grows
falls into step with the wild dog.
Quite the pair in their time,
sneaky & intimidating like no other.

Miles over miles send out shivers
with their howls and roars.
Years after years sticking together,
never losing the scent of its partner.

Time comes to pass & the wild dog
pasts its prime.
No longer can he keep up
with its feline friend.

Though the kitten now has
become the lion.
It always shares
the best parts of its catch.

One day the lion finds the wild one
breathing its last breath.
It laps at its nose and mouth
until the struggle ends.

The wild lion would one day
return to this spot to die.
Remembering the wild dog
who once gave a lost kitten a life.

Period Talk – July Edition.

part-the-red-sea.png There was a hackathon weekend during my period the past month that I skipped. I was tired and could not get up at 7:30am to catch the 8:00am starting of the event. The other reason would be because it’s an all women event. What can I possibly miss right? For a technical hackathon with all ladies, surely it’s not as exciting as if there were more men than women… I’m a sexist against my own gender. I’ve observed in the society what and more importantly who holds the power. I’ve been let down by other women who try to impose their value on me, just another mere female that is lost and weird and needs guidance. They are so kind-hearted, I hate it. They are so supportive, I hate it. They are so selfless and cheerful, I hate, hate it.

I played action figures instead of dolls (they creep me out). I played adventures instead of dressed-up tea-parties. I’d rather be dead than looking proper and prim and ready to serve just because. In my mind, what society wants with a woman has nothing at all to do with me. But I also seethe, oh, how I seethe. When I see dedication page on the books: “For Joanne”, “For my wife without whom …”, “For mom whose love…”. When I have a dedication to write for my book I will say “For my father who loves me enough to show me how the world really works. For my hubby who doesn’t care what I do as long as I will agree to having his kid one day.” Let the flow be real.