sorry if there are mistakes. this is purely from my memory. hee
Past Midnight
i turn the light on to see if i am still there
the bulb creeps to life, resentful
at being roused to work. the dreary repertoire
which a discordant band went through a dozen times
during a neighbour's funeral, is stomping in my head.
i hum a classical tune, summon
the words of a sentimental song to expel the stubborn band.
the blaring trumpets cut them down in a single blow
life is perpetual unrest in
the house estates. the endless knockings,
the endless stampeding feet, the endless hurricanes of bad temper.
the eternal television, the thrashing of bodies.
and the endless rituals of life and death.
where is the point of stillness
mature art directs us to?
my mind veers crazily,
i turn of the light,
the bulb goes on burning inside.
yup, all from my memory. not bad a go. HAHA. love this poem.
beautiful solitude. =D
aight. getting back to JJ. not the SPOP guy duhh... the LPOP guy. haha!
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