New Poetry

Oh so easy

To just let go                                                                                                                                         To let it all just slip away,

My best laid plans, the smiles unsmiled

The loose ends lost, unravelling the inner me

When nothing in particular moves into view

And no one left around me can see

How I already can no longer really be

And my heart of hearts grows weary

Of the never having quite arrived,

Not even having departed

Promising prodigy, potentially

Too tarnished, set off already broken,

Cracked through the core

Yet ever so thankful

To have been here at all

For that superb distorted glimpse

Of life, before I’m due to fall

By that wayside

All along, there was only one

Who ever knew me

And now no other one could ever know

How easy, so very easy

It is to just let go.

Inventory Blues

A ghost, a shell                                                                                                                                      A left over half-memory                                                                                                                    of what – on earth – I might have been.

Burning bridges while I stride,                                                                                                Leaving those around me,                                                                                                             pre-emptive strikes.

Lest they, like me, find out too soon                                                                                          Once again, a wager lost.

Trust placed in me – a darkened horse.                                                                                   What crazy odds..

Could’ve stayed the course?

A dismal daytime dream, a ‘sort of never really knew him.’                                                  And stranger still,                                                                                                                               as all the while, he knew no bounds,

Opened as a riptide, welcoming all and sundry                                                                       into that madhouse glass heart of his,                                                                                      Fatal shore indeed…

Yet no one seemed to truly see                                                                                                       the battle at the heart of me;

To yet remain and thwart the tide                                                                                                   of Fate, bloody Loki,                                                                                                                Fortuna herself even?

The game seems rigged.

So many cards still stacked by hands,                                                                                               I no longer trust or even know.

Am tired. Of me, of all there is tonight.

Can’t turn around, the dye seems cast – and still I cannot breathe.                                       No foothold ledge, no branch to clasp.

When tomorrow’s unborn dawn,                                                                                                 slips already from my grasp.

Don’t Fit in Between Sunrise and Sunset

I don’t fit in between the sunrise and sunset
I can’t really call it living
It’s more a case of saying
Every day
One more day, okay
One more day

You can’t really call it living,
Going round in circles
Growing smaller day by day

And the working girls,
Lord, please bless them,
Every one of them

They may raise a smile
If nothing else

But you can’t really call it living
More a case of every day
Saying, okay one more day

And the hotel doormen, so agreeable,
Useful, helpful – they don’t envy me
Amid the knowing smiles, the little winks
They know what they go home to

And me

You can’t really call it living
More a case of saying
Every day
One more day, okay

And my dearest one, I am so sorry
I could not stop the Daimon in me
From tearing down that fragile thing we built

I am so sorry, I hope you’ll be okay
One day

But you can’t really call this living
More a case of saying every day
Okay, one more day.

(Kuala Lumpur, 2019)


At Ease in the Company of Ghosts


I walk alone once more, I find,

That no one dares come near

Reminders of their gazes once,

Replete, as now, with fear.

a hauntedness, an ill at ease

a who the Hell is that?