The seed of her dreams is now a full-grown tree Good vibes run through its twigs and roots Some vulnerable pulses hang on shy branches But that's fine, they are only bits Waiting to grow into fine wine and weathers Shadows of darkness do not loom over Nor ghosts of the forgotten past She has learned to burn her bridges to wrong turns Swallowed bitter poison and pride like lame jokes Crawled to walk straight and stand upright While learning to bow in reverence and humility In all her simplicity and naivity, her innocence survived Even in bits and pieces but clear enough For her to see and feel, exhibit and inhale Bad times passed like layers of ignored phases And now she knows how to row around rough waters Tough does not sound difficult nor pain intolerable Between sweet and savory lie her tastebuds Just like her road amid black and white No, it's not grey, but a color of her own soul The hue her spirit has chosen time and again The only constant in her is ...
Standing on the tiny balcony of the 20th floor I can smell softeners of a running washing machine Tentalising sizzlers roasted with hot fish sauce Burnt petrol and diesel oil roughing on the road Dcent of lemongrass sprinkled on papaya salad I can see lights bedazzling the skyscrappers Traffic creating rows of fairy lights Flocks of birds queuing up for an early return home Umbrellas popping some corners of dusky streets I can hear the clinking beer mugs of old friends Metrolines rampwalking and criscrossing patiently Car wheels twinning the hassled noise Thunders shining and rhyming every now and then Whispering winds swirling and twirling enough To make me sense the presence of a familiar sight As the city wakes up to yet another rain-soaked night ****