Date in God's House(cont'd)

The Passover

No. She wasn't the most ravishing of beauties. No eulogies of her beauty was ever given. But she was stunning. She was undoubtedly different. Exuding elegance,style and new maturity, she was unlike how he ever saw her, evolving from that outgoing,infectious girl. Indeed, that astonishing change almost made him unable to recognise her.

Then again, it was close to 2 years since they met. And she initially could not recognise him as well. After exchanging formalities, they entered church where mass had already began together.

She walked to a side and stood.

His liking for her of yesteryears overwhelmed him. The mixture of nostalgia, gratefulness, trepidation and indecision submitted him to paralysis. There he wavered, whether to whimper to her side or put on a charade of nonchalance.

Like a well-admonished child, he scampered to her side, trying at every venture to ingratiate himself with her and clutching any minuscule opportunity to glance at her. Though her singing left much to be desired, he felt it was the most beautiful sound he ever heard. They stood at the back, surrounded by many. But, to him, they stood alone. All the proceedings around him did not matter. Even if a fire raged around him, it would not have mattered. And he was sure the fire wouldn't touch her.

It was as if by some otherworldly design the mass was made for both of them; an intersection of destinies enabling them to meet. He had to freeze this epochal occasion and sear the gamut of emotions into his memory; he wanted to hold her hand.

But the few times when the chance was presented, he shirked away. His cowardice embarrassed himself but he knew it was not meant to be. He knew it was not made to be.

She had only come to his church for convenience and for her studies. She was not going to come back. She was not trapped like he was. It was as if Fate was twisting him to her fantasies, tantalizing and wringing him dry of emotions.

In the end, he just shook her hand and wished her well for her studies,knowing he would never forget this incident. He watched her walk out of church and, perhaps, out of his life forever. But he still held out this hope.

The hope that she didn't walk out in order to leave him but so that she can someday walk back in again again.

Date in God's House

The Chance

Brooding through the still quiet night, he wonders if it was fate or God's divine intervention. Perhaps it was coincidence, a mere meeting of past acquaintances and the passing-by of no consequence. Maybe it was Bygone's taunt, a way of reminding him of his sordid past. Perchance Destiny was paving the path to a beautiful future, one with brilliant hope and radiant splendour. Or may it be his prayers were answered?

Other than the morning madness and frenzied rush, it began like any other day. Except he was going to be late for church and desperately needed a bus. And, of course, by God's design a bus was galloping down for him to catch. He probably made the best decision of his day by giving chase, despite not knowing whether he could get to it in time.

By sheer grit and determination(or a stroke of luck), he did. He had acquired a strange little habit to scan wherever he was for any girl good-looking from his friends. And his radar seemed to pick nothing up though there was this girl, head tipped down presumably asleep and face obscured by her hair.

Brushing it aside, he stood silent and still, waiting for his destination.

He zipped off the bus and up the flight of stairs when he decided, for some inexplicable reason, to look back.

That's when he saw her.

Neither Here Nor There

She plods down this solitary path
which is suited for only one
and lets this familiar loneliness engulf her
deluding her with thoughts of solitude.

Flitting all around are butterflies in perfect symmetry,
goading and abetting her with lies of jubilee.
But perhaps these hyperboles may be true
not just pure fabrications made up by a few.

Yet, she has buried her heart away
where no man, beast or higher being can revive
to keep her sanity- this is the price she has to pay.

Scouring for her sempiternal other half,
she hates this lingering loneliness
and tries futilely to elude its hell-born handcuffs

But the loneliness loves her.

Past. Present. Future?

There and then, he gave her everything,
baring his heart out, leaving out nothing
and yet that never amounted to anything.

Here and now, he still deliberates on what he wants,
unsure of what it holds, distrustful of his own honesty,
but, at the very least, he thinks he needs to protect her.

Now and beyond, no one knows what will happen
but he sees nothing left for him to remain.
Perhaps he is an anomaly, or an unwanted,
malignant tumour, not belonging here nor there,
even more redundant in her destiny.

His past held nothing but pain,
his present uncertainty in no uncertain terms
but what of his future?



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Not my best poem but it just came (quite) naturally

Must I Still Stay (Miss)?

Why do you want me to stay
(when it is so much better for me to go)?
Why do you want me to pay
(for all the times you couldn't let go)?
Wouldn't it be so much better for you to pray
(he wouldn't deal you another blow)
Or are you still caught up in your own fantastical play
(where no life is filled with sorrow)?

Miss, must I still stay?
I am wearied by life's ardous journey.
My heart lacks recompense
while my soul teems with condemnation
I can no longer play the role
of that ALWAYS-smiling, ever-giving man.

And yet, I still miss you.

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Wrote this a long long long time ago. Finally remembered to bring back the book which i wrote it in

5 stars a-risen

5 stars a-risen


Aroused from their slumber and wearied,
trooping down that forced, unwanted path
with that crescent glaring overhead
those young men had no other option
nor choice, but to bitterly embark
on this imposed, tempestuous travail
and reluctantly vow to protect
his people, whilst receiving in his
calloused hands, a new potent power
and encumbrance, just like olden times
when warriors swore to safeguard their tribe,
with that pitiful farce of a show
answer the demand of make-pretend
patriotism and facetious ardor.

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Inspired by one of the best policies in the world- National Service