I was born once a stranger
Garbled words in garish tongues
Misaligned stars from Taurus to Cancer
Bore a Fool chained and unchained
Wrong side of the dream tunnel
The prophesised hero
Steeped in indelible sin

To his feet the ground did not conform
Clouds fled his outstretched palm
No sea opened its depths unto him
For his blood was scarlet not
Everything but
Call it a rhapsody if you will
The advent of a man foretold
By neither lore nor divine scripture
Breathing his last


On humans

We’re all going to get lost. Once, twice, maybe hundreds of times. But grasping for answers in the dark, seeking a “tomorrow” even while blind, maybe that’s what it means to be “human”.

Little Poppy

I walked along a beach I used to know, rejected by both the wind and the water. One sought to tear my face off, slashing at me with pressured claws, while the other sought to drown me in a deluge of rain. But being the more docile of the two, my tainted skin the water dared not touch, so I walked through the downpour undisturbed, non-existent.

Mother Earth and her servants are not like us humans. Their memories last, engraved in the sift of the sand and the ache of the earth. They do not forget betrayal. What possessed me to come back to this town? This town that I had been chased from 15 years ago? The ghastly wind offered me no answers, for it wondered the same.

I returned to the corner where the beach met the mangroves, where the sand was thicker and not too grainy, the perfect texture for building sandcastles. I returned to the spot where, if you lay at a certain angle, you could find a little hole in the middle of the canopy, through which the stars always seemed to shine the brightest.

Was this some kind of joke?

After 15 years it was still there, a cross made of two twigs tied together with enough rubber bands to make a mother scream. It stood in the sand, bent at an angle, but still there. The waves didn’t reach that spot, but there was no reason for anyone to leave that ugly monument there.

Except to punish me.

My knees sank into the sand. If I had dug, would I have found some of those bones you always loved? Maybe I would have found yours, and mistook them for something else’s. Either way, I didn’t. Because I couldn’t. I couldn’t bring myself to touch those grains you loved to play with so much, because I was afraid they would stain my fingers red with your blood. I was afraid I would touch them and find your soft fur and the weak, desperate throbbing of your heart as it grew quieter, and quieter…

Oh, Poppy. My dear, dear Poppy.

Sambutan Hari Jadi :)

Hari jadi saya pada Januari. Januari tahun ini saya dengan sendiri di Jepun jadi saya tidak boleh sambut dengan keluarga saya.

Pagi itu saya pergi ke restoran terkenal untuk makan penkek. Penkek itu sangat lembut dan sangat sedap. Pukul sebelas saya pergi ke kedai pakaian dan kedai buku. Pukul duabelas saya pergi ke taman dengan kawan untuk lihat salji. Kami bermain salji selama satu jam. Selepas itu kami makan tengah hari. Kami makan sushi mahal.

Malam itu saya balik ke hotel. Saya di hotel minum bir Asahi dan berbual dengan orang cina dan orang jepun. Hari itu sangat seronok.

White-Faced Pain

There is no hope
There is no sanctuary
It slips in while you sleep
A white-faced phantom
Crawls on the ceiling
Descends the wall
Behind your bed
Hovers over
Slips a knife
Onto your scalp
Cuts through skin
And muscle and bone
Penetrates deep into
Raw brain tissue
Then slowly
Pulls out

You wake up screaming
For how can you escape
From a pain that has an
End; but no beginning