Poetry by | December 6, 2009

As I lie on my bed, I remember
the carved wooden door I used to bang
when I’m outrageously mad at someone,
the heavy narra chairs I used to kick
when I tried to tame my lazy brothers,
that long soft sofa I used to sleep in
during those long cold boring afternoons,
that comfortable bed I woke up in
early in the morning,
the big airy house full of noise,
that white house I used to sneak out of,
that is now the most sentimental place
I long to go back to and never leave again.

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Poetry by | December 6, 2009

I was there again,
In the river where we used to play with my friends,
The water from the cave beside it was still clear,
But the river looked different.
I thought something strange had changed.
For the last years it was still playable,
We had even spent time soaking our bodies in it.
But now floating on it were crumpled toiletries,
empty beaten cans,
and rotten skins of coconut and pomelo.
From the bridge already rotten,
Naked children jumped off, just like we used to.
The splashing sound of water reached me,
But it doesn’t feel cool anymore.
I shuddered at the thought
of the water pinching my skin.
I woke up from my sleep
And took off my headphone,
Wishing I had a better dream.

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