By: Deborah Wong
MIRROR & OTHER POEMS
Best Kept Secret
You still think of/love him
Despite what he has done
The pain he'd caused.
Trying to forget. It takes some time
and then finally you did.
Thumbs up! Bravo!
If it wasn't that song, reminding you
of how sweet those memories were –
that love comes quick, the snap haunts
like burning thousand miles.
You walked into display of jigsaw
puzzles, and then there was one
the unfinished. You put your heart in
it. What if it doesn't fit the picture
you've been hoping for?
Will you torch the place?
I'm in need to take that nail to the end,
unafraid of whatever that has been playing
in my system like a black sheep;
parental-less and unwanted - overflowing -
fissure of tomorrow. I'll encounter and counter
the undying hymns.
Drop that knife, child.
I've chosen to comprehend the words before
it were never heard. Whether it'll make it
into our insanity, you were cracking pathetic
skull, groaning time doesn't wait no one
but you’ve no trigger to pull. This country
has banned violence for suicidal commoners.
We came across the dimension of faith
with no law of Algebra and desperation.
Drinking literacy straight from the bowl
Heads hold upward, not walking the talk
You asked me to be the best kept secret
Should've said no due to absurdity –
I look into your pupils of ignition
And then the hatred emerges
Make no further mistakes
It isn’t our wrongdoing
You are who to say
I’m not your Adam’s Rib in the cage
The fault isn’t a juggernaut
When you miss countless harbours
along the way. Are you sick
of trying to love that one and only –
physical with mental think-tank. Do not give
up that speed of light. Me here and you see nothing.
You’re porcelain; a curse to have been broken
Mature enough to decipher potency, but you
are digging your grave, loving a woman
that un-exist in your path. That evening when
we breathe each other. Suddenly the
urge to brush your skin. My eyes
closed, learning the meta-universe
behind with tongue of haunting
fairy tale. The pain giggles through
those flipping crickets. Your songs inside
my walking gravity. Awaiting the first to
leave this game. Dirt is surfacing holiness.
Judge not your fingers, in racing against time
Who the Virgin Mother in the making is?
Should you know she’s a pretentious package?
I’ve shifted my direction, the reflection
in you staring no more. At the collective
measures, and eventually,
am loosening the orbit that clashes
among the insomniac.
Looking Back and Drowning In
I dreamed of you last night
How you've been keeping, my dear?
It’s been seven and a half years;
though it feels like yesterday
when we were chasing roses & lavenders.
We were talking like the old times
Your protective arm over my shoulder,
complaining of my decreased weight
I turned away, afraid you might see
what's hiding beneath my soul
I know, you've been blaming me
for throwing you into the carousel
of sufferings. Your friends, too
calling me displeasing names, cursing
that my best days are yet to arrive
What if I'm telling you I've been living
in a nonredeemable state of conscience?
Would you be happier then?
There's a life I wished it never happen
to anybody. Let me be your Lamb of God.
Still, I prayed for you each night
Apologies is the least perfect word
to describe this devastated parting
You never want my comfort
Still, I ask God to keep you safe
Born and raised in Kuala Lumpur, Deborah Wong is of second generation Malaysian-Chinese descent. A law graduate from the University of London, she attended creative writing courses at the University of British Columbia. Her poems have been published locally and internationally; and recently accepted by Mad Swirl, Eastlit, Vox Poetica and The Tower Journal. She's also working on her first novel, while seeking publication for her first full-length poetry book. She tweets often at @PetiteDeborah