Social Awkwardness

It’s tough to explain this situationTo all those that are around with meIt’s like a blockade, an inhibitionI want to say hi, but I can’t set the words freeWhen I meet so many souls all at onceI can’t help but to break out in cold sweatNo matter how many prompts, or how many timesI will

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A World I Dream

I dream of a plant, whereCandy apples dangle on low branchesSo all kids can have a tasteOf the bliss of sweetness there I dream of a treeWhere its leaves are peppermint creamWhy yes, it’s freeAnd it’d fulfil every kiddie’s dream I dream of a girlWho perches atop a cream mareJade eyes and red curlsAnd tackles

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Being The Older Kid

The second that I was born,It’s already set, and I was swornIn, as the goody-two-shoesFor the rest of this lifetime,Even in the most infuriating, irritating, annoying moments,I have to keep my cool, not be shyBe calm, and keep mum about any laments.They hate it when I complain and groanAnd frown upon me when I say

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A Singaporean Childhood

This is a story of growing up in beige HDB flatsHigh-rise homes that dot the lavender sunsetOf void-deck soccer, of sizzling kachang putehsAnd of the kids in khaki shorts and white, loose singletsAs their jubilant laughter fill the air aroundOf the napping tabby cat hiding in the drain, waiting to be foundThis is a tale

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Stuff I Love

Here are some things that make me smileMy lip corners upturn when these come into mindAmazing as the rainbow stained glass tilesAnd also simple as a little bird’s first flight Try to think of a refreshing, blazing autumn forestLike the earth’s been studded with candid rubiesA riot of warm colours, a blazing, dazzling messLike Picasso

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The Big Social Malaise

Walking on the streetsI see no child at easeWorn out faces, exhausted eyesDrained out souls, and heavy sighsTonnes of books weigh down fragile shouldersPressure that pins them down like gigantic boulders.Kids run around in circles, attend all sorts of classesBut, parents, think, is it really a must?For your child to memorise the whole encyclopedia,Clinch all

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Musings At The West Coast

Traffic lights bleed onto rain-stained roadsA blurry yet colourful noisy solitudeBattered boats with dirty-cherry windowsIlluminate the waves with a golden-orange hueHeavy lamps that dangle at the starboard deckSlash througy swells much like crushed felt tip pens.Where the world shall wait behind my backWhilst I empty my thoughts from this darkened end.For I still can’t grapple

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An inflated blood-pressureA racing heartAs a rage beyond measure,Threatens to rip the lands apart Knitted brows and a fiery glareHer red-lips curl in ultimate hateAn inferno-encapsulated stareSears my innards and seals my fate Sizzling with wrath like hot, scalding oilThose eyes radiate icy lethalityHer face contorts like a crumpled foilOn the brink of a blast

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The Babysitter

A young couple walked into the maid agency‘I’m looking for the perfect au pair! ‘ He exclaimedOne that will keep my princess entertained,Someone to paint a radiant smile everyday. Oh, and she would play with herTake her to explore the forests and the seasEnjoy the ride on a patridge’s wingAnd sing with faeries of the

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Definition De La Beaux

Billions of billboards and floods of commercialsBombard and pollute young minds and our valuesWhere social vices overwhelm visual materialSo, what are standards of beauty and virtue?Is beauty really only skin deep, let the young ones judge.Lust and admiration, the thin line now smudged.Confined to the short-lived artificial aesthetic liesLimited to only the silver screen, but

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ġham tumhārā thā zindagī goyā tum ko khoyā use nahīñ khoyā fart-e-girya se jī na halkā ho bas yahī soch kar nahīñ royā ashk to ashk haiñ sharāb se bhī maiñ ne ye dāġh-e-dil nahīñ dhoyā maiñ vo kisht-e-nashāt kyoñ kāTūñ jis ko maiñ ne kabhī nahīñ boyā aabla aabla thī jaañ phir bhī bār-e-hastī

safed chhaDiyan

janam kā andhā jo soch aur sach ke rāstoñ par kabhī kabhī koī ḳhvāb dekhe to ḳhvāb meñ bhī azaab dekhe ye shāhrāh-e-hayat jis par hazār-hā qāfile ravāñ haiñ sabhī kī āñkheñ har ek kā dil sabhī ke raste sabhī kī manzil isī hujūm-e-kashāñ-kashāñ meñ tamām chehroñ kī dāstāñ meñ na naam merā na zaat


vo kaisā shobada-gar thā jo masnūī sitāroñ aur naqlī sūrajoñ kī ik jhalak dikhlā ke mere saada dil logoñ kī āñkhoñ ke diye hoñToñ ke jugnū le gayā aur ab ye aalam hai ki mere shahr kā har ik makāñ ik ġhaar kī mānind mahrūm-e-navā hai aur hañstā boltā har shaḳhs ik dīvār-e-girya hai


ai siyah-fām hasīna tirā uryāñ paikar kitnī pathrā.ī huī āñkhoñ meñ ġhaltīda hai jaane kis daur-e-alama-nāk se le kar ab tak tū kaḌe vaqt ke zindānoñ meñ ḳhvābīda hai tere sab rañg hayūle ke ye be-jān nuqūsh jaise marbūt ḳhayālāt ke tāne-bāne ye tirī sāñvlī rañgat ye pareshān ḳhutūt bārhā jaise miTāyā ho inheñ duniyā