Reality Check

Reality Check

Ducks in a round pond,

Go merry-a-swing,

Horses wild on carousels,

Toss me off the wind.

 

Why is the clock,

The clock is anti?

To the Right it goes

To my purse it stoles.

 

Oh Goody Proctor,

What do you say?

Witches? Sabbath?

The Crucible you mean.

 

Many a times, killings,

Murders they’ve been.

Massacres, Genocides,

War’s the worst thing!

 

Fight a Horse,

When the Horse is weak.

Kill a Duck,

When the Duck’s naive.

 

Horses don’t kick,

Before you start.

Ducks don’t grieve,

Before you steal.

 

The pond that’s psyched,

By hyacinths and weeds.

The carousel’s under siege,

Revenge that breeds double.

 

What’s become of the pond,

That dried up mess?

For bottom-empty it is,

Not half-empty is it.

 

Flying daggers in the air,

The air that’s once stale.

Fight to say whose air it is,

When all you need is share.

 

Shoots uprooted,

Flowers they could’ve become.

Place a shovel beside a bud,

A pack’o weed to the addict.

 

The Right, they say,

Grass is greener,

Always greener,

In the first dump pond you see.

 

Greens dug and planted,

Indeed good it seems.

Months void of rain and dew,

Shriveled, they’ve withered.

 

Time you switch you gaze down to look,

The pond, the ditch, the hollow.

Was it water as they claimed,

Or mud or dung, or dust?

Fractions of the Night Out

This is a schizophrenic account of ‘I’ watching television when the newscaster broadcasted that someone killed the King and I thought I was persecuted. And then I found the channel dry and switched channels, a program less threatening to ‘my’ mental health of course. Fractions are in direct relations to split-personality (schizo). Several references are made in the poem, see if you can spot and decipher (: Disclaimer: I’m not schizo And this is fictional, I don’t usually watch telly.

Fractions of the Night Out

Night out on the couch, I sat,

Half-lids in the clouds.

Three-eighths on a smarting toe,

One-eighth on the spout. 

Half the world says ‘telly’,

Three-eighths swears by cable.

I call it a telescreen, 1984. 

I dig into his eyes,

He bore into my hollows.

 Says he, “The Queen is dead!”

Says she, “The King is killed!” 

Half the world is watching,

The officer in blue,

Cuffs that metal round my wrists,

Here you meet your doom! 

Three-eighths deems me innocent,

One-eighth more to all.

I made *Denny shook his head,

And *Cranes it towards jail. 

Night in between bars, I crouched,

Half-expecting end.

Three-eighth wanting sleeping,

One-eighth switching off. 

Flash, the blinding white of life,

Is that Winston Smith I see?

Or is it Paradise in Disguise,

You always preached to me? 

Gosh, um, sorry,

But do leave me alone.

For this program is interesting,

Divergence no more. 

Night down on the lounge I lied,

My whole life before me,

Is it me, or is it you,

But who is it I see? 

*Sounds familiar? The almighty Denny Crane from Boston Legal 

School Paradox

I thought of a paradox today, unintentionally (what else) while talking to my friend and didn’t know it was one until my friend cried,” that’s just false!”

Here goes: The only thing I learnt in school is that I don’t learn anything in school.

She was going,” But you learnt that you don’t learn anything!”

And immediately cupped her mouth cos she contributed to the paradox.

But I really didn’t learn anything from school, for the past nine years.

Love

I don’t know, but I think I know what is love. Discovery made me kinda teared badly but this is often what my recent growth was in exchange for.

Love is stable, love is not the swishing of your heart when you see someone. Love is a bullet lodged into your heart, in to stay, but you never know when and how it got there, you just know it exists cos whenever you doubt love, a pain stings your insides– when you try to remove the bullet, which is already a part of you already. And if you do remove it, there will always be a hollow, where the bullet used to be and will always be.

Love is the ability to pray for the person, to rise above all, to succeed, to be happy and satisfied without requiring anything in return, to watch the person grow and learn and being fulfilled when you see him/her contented even if it means taking a position awkward for you (ie. mothers and step-mothers, or ex-es and currents). And if any forms of resurrection is impossible, you just hope for the situation to stay cos you’ll always be there, mentally, always supporting, even if it requires you cast into the background.

I don’t think this is love in its pure form, cos this is a result of momentous blogging, straight after I felt it. I just know that parents stay under the shade too, and I now know more about how mom and dad feels, its heart-wrenching, its pain cos I’ll forever remain this bullet lodged in their hearts and I alone take up maybe 50% of their hearts. If this part dies and withers, how can you expect them to carry out their daily lives with minimum sanity?

I also learnt to change myself, bend myself to the person, to mom and dad, cos its way easier to adapt yourself to people and circumstances, to take the initiative to love them for who they are, to be who they want you to be because it is their heart.

I am one person who lives for others, to listen and advise, to make them feel important and cared for cos I know how good it feels like to be treated in this way and by looking at them, I feel happy too. I remember the times I was 10. I was walking back home when it started pouring. I was going to run when this lady behind me gestured me to share an umbrella with her. It was small, and she was half-wet while trying to make sure that I was fully sheltered.

I just felt something I never had before. From then on, I promised to spread the love because I know how good it feels to know that you’re sheltered with warmth when everything’s cold and grey outside. And I did, but realised that I feel even better being the one holding the umbrella up.

There was this time I lugged myself to school even though I was really really down with depression because I have to bring a piece of assignment I promised my friend to print for her and I went home with a fever. The reason I’m still here typing and not dead and over with suicide is because I discovered how much my parents invested on me, hopes, money and all that intangibles, in order to see me grow and succeed. Then I know that I’ll be such a loser to back out.

But now I know its love.

They might not be the best parents in the world, but I can always be the best daughter in the world, even if I’m not, I know I have done my best and there’s no regrets.

If things are to remain, make the best out of it.