Of girls and tea

Ephemeral is the steam rising from a cup of hot tea, going to where my eyes cannot follow.

It rushes into a nothingness as far as my senses can perceive, like the fleeting beauty of a girl I met on the bus today. She was all the more beautiful, radiant, because I know she will alight at a bus stop and her existence, winked out immediately. She was also the girl I met the day before, the day before yesterday, today, tomorrow and the day after tomorrow. On a bus, on a plane, in a foreign airport, for a drink, for a date, for a while, for a relationship, for a dream of a relationship, for a nightmare of a relationship. She is the girl for good, the girl for bad, the girl for everything. Thinking further, I think she is the girl in me, the boy in me, and also me, while at the same time she is not. Would it be that she is who I want to be if I was a girl? It’s slightly disturbing but maybe not. Still, she is the girl of girls, the beauty of beauty, an existence to be stamped out and relighted, relighted and stamped out throughout time. She’ll die many deaths and live many lives throughout Time. After I die, she would live on in others’ eyes.

When the bus arrives at my destination, I would have forgotten about her, just like how I forgotten about where tea goes to as steam when I finish my pot of tea. I would like to think that the steam is another side of tea, the side which I’m not normally acquainted with as I can’t drink it, can’t grasp it, can’t taste it, going somewhere else. It could be nowhere else too, since I think it’s a place beyond my senses.

Yet there are reminders as each morning I repeat to make a pot of tea, to take a bus to work.

On another bus on another day, I would see another girl and think about how ephemeral her beauty is, how fleeting the pretty.

Ephemeral the steam
from a cup of hot tea
going to where the eyes cannot.

Fleeting the beauty
of a lady passenger on a bus
heading to where I am not

Repetitive life is
looped thoughts are
when you cannot detect it.


Nothing to say today

Nothing to say today
I poured myself a cup of boiling water
And soaked a bag of green tea in it
While my hair dries, imagining bokeh effects
Lighting up my surroundings.

Nothing to say today
I made myself another cup of green tea
Surfed my Facebook, found a funny statement
Shared it with my friends
Hoping that they’ll read it.

Draft: East Coast

We stand in our metal towers
argue over best practices and promotions
in pursuit of happiness
But our elders and children need just the
one-dollar ice-cream sandwich from the uncle on a motorbike
to smile.

A kite flies over the East Coast sea
its string cut loose
A family three separated
father and daughter tumble in the waves
the mother hangs back cautiously
content with her iPhone games
all she needs to get, she says, is a banana
to complete the current free play.

A kite stretches its string over the waves
further and further it goes
it doesn’t know when to stop

Another father steps into the waves with his three daughters
The eldest, already into the world, walks bravely in and guides the younger along
The youngest shrieks for daddy
when she feels the cold and icky seabed beneath
So the daddy heads back to shore and pick up a pair of shoes
Returns to clad the youngest’s feet with a layer of love

When The World Ends

From me to E.

Surrounded by so many people, there are times I wish
To hear my own footfalls, landing on the soft white powder, thud thud thud
To put my right foot forward as my left foot plays catch-up, unthinking
But not unfeeling like the cold pinching my nose, cutting my breathe short
Short short squirts of air, made visible by the cold
Fast fast footfalls, made audible by the cliffs surrounding the expanse of this frozen lake, echoing
A white white foundation, talcum powder soothing the skin, refreshing
And also numbingly cold after a long run from beyond the woods
To which I cannot help but think, “There’s no one to put on a fur coat for me.”
As I fall to the ground, a pile of snow and slush, the heat of my body melting the snow and I, feeling the cold more keenly than ever
That’s all I could remember (and it makes me wonder)

When the world ends, will only selfish thoughts come into my mind?

I am cognizant of the fact that words don’t make Ferraris appear
Sometimes I wish to be these people
Run into the embrace of society and stand tall, well-accepted, well-heeled, well-branded on the podium
(Across the corner of my eye I see an iron poke standing in the fire, waiting to brand another)
To do things many people do as well
But I like to think I am different from others (or am I falling into a pattern here) so I write
And I put myself higher than the others, the commoners, thinking I am more than them yet in truth I am nothing
It is unclear whether I am running into my own death instinct (Freud does not help here and neither does Lacan)
My dictionary on psychoanalysis stands unused, ecrits gathering dust

So I run still I run
(I am afraid to be still)
To be my own painter and lay a weave of colour, as many weaves as possible
Over the landscape I deem colourless
But even after I have coloured the landscape
Would my footsteps still sound alone, left foot always playing catch-up with the right
Or would there be another pair
Following behind me

When the world ends
Will you leave me a message
Saying I have loved you after all
Put a warm fur coat around me, the last there is in the world
And snuggle with me until there are no more visible squirts of breathe from my lips
No audible sounds of footfalls from my feet


Copyright: Desireduser7

From down above I wish to burst

Through the evergreen view, in Casuarina’s dew.

Monster slayer

In a nursery dream I cry
I’ll go on a ’61 Gibson ride
Slay monsters in the System Drive
Paint a better sunrise to kindred kind.

Inspired by FLCL. A new effort at writing some semblance of poetry on my Twitter account. From now on, such tweets will be tagged as #140chars.

Marble kitchen top

A contortionist twists
her moonlit face
features out of proportion

Beauty blossoms
underneath that clingwrap

A gleaming crystal lying
on the marble kitchen top.