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I Remember October

instead of writing drunk and carving rhymes out of thin frozen air
instead of trading good repartee whilst still waters run (o’er shoulder’d hair)
instead of laying leylines through the heart of verdant ancestry instead
of laying down, laying aside the laws o’ the land, now-ancient, long-decayed
instead of steady  death of mind, lucidity and honest finds
instead of want of progress, prospectus, profitability
instead of naming naive idealists, escapists, communists – who are instead
real realists truer than those who say they see the world true – truth’s trust
instead of what man makes of her
instead of what man takes of her
instead of want of want, of what one wants what one wants of one – what does one want of one, instead?
instead of big words, harbing penultimate umbrage, fabricate,
instead of prosecution, seek peace now, browbeat discerningly
instead of belittling the small things that make us human again
instead of deification of glorified inconsequentials –

Instead I find solace in ash-free, salt-strewn, sea-wind breezes free –
surf the beauty thus detailed inside the wave of laced skirt,
take flight on chords of Gaea’s song, more ember-forged, raw aged-peat,
lust wandering for ubiquitously forbidden chemistry
set level against rapturous rhetoric for equality and
seeing all the loves that once were, never were, won’t mean to be,
remember October as what she wants, once, long ago had meant,
foretold by wise ones, cup twice drained, breast winter-filled, storm angry,
flowing as rivers through the canyons carved
so patiently by ink
made painstaking as
harvest from warm bosom of fresh Hermes’ wit,
believe!
repeat! – what would veracity be ceteris paribus,
what time, made in our image, how blind conscience’s tide has swept us thus.
.

I remember May when September comes

A decade and a half, a younger me,
One so naive and silly,
Thought hard of voting for my chairman
from a candidate pool of one
chosen by my instructor-in-charge –
I thought it was great fun.

A decade, a teenager me,
finding my place in JC
Told to vote for my chairman
by my deskmate, (a desk has two)
One year hence another asked (the air)
“why did I vote for you?”

Then half a decade hence, and I
remember May nights chocolate skies
Torn between the exams of the day
and sentiments of night.
Why did I have to decide
against something that was my right?

Now there lays just half a day
till, for Parliament, I’ll have a say
Taken to task for choosing fair
for jobs, for roads, for covered walkways new.
Do I have the answer now,
to my forebears, fellows – to my heirs?

Memorie5 0f Home: 1

It was always an image of warm, pastel, muted Sun
It was an image of Europe.

Of course I hadn’t seen the Americas, Oceania, Asias – anywhere else seemed
a world away
a time away (a long time indeed)
All I cared about was how the dew sat sleeping on the lime luminescent blades of
cow grass. “Cow Grass”. No fiddly jiminy “carpet grass”,
far from the Lalang (not Cattail) of tropical repute, not,
heaven forbid, the astroturfing nonsense that modern centennials are so familiar with.

Morning dew, Morning sunrise, Morning glory, fresh from the sprouts that grow all
through the night, just waiting, patiently,
silently – not there if unnoticed;

It is the little things that make us who we are
even if the timeworn, human, fallible memory of the mind
may falter and fade