Chocolate Cake

the inside, i yearned.

the sweetness,

the mushy and soft side,

covered with skin

of the colour walnut.

bewitching me

as i devoured

and my heart pumped

when beauty is what i see!

never uttered a word,

silence mingled

with other ingredients,

yet warmth, i feel.

cold when aloof,

but a piece

will always be in me.

i envy those

who has more.

love turned me greedy.

the more i have,

the more i’m unclean,

i’ll have the whole,

and the tiny bits too.

none would be wasted,

it’ll all be in me.


A Morning Lullaby for the Sleepless Nights

white dots speckled the sombre sky,

lingering onto the raven void

with dark cotton rampaging up high.

weepings from above and i was annoyed.

i mumbled and prayed to see the moon

hiding among the mists like a lost possession.

then, all thoughts slumbered in the gloom,

whilst i dwell on my fickled emotions.

my ears suddenly shoot up to a voice trilling,

a sweet rhapsody from paradise up top.

my morning bursts in colours of thrillings.

and when my heart began to hop,

those little ticks, like chirps from early birds,

are humming humbly as i spot him in sight.

his dirty mug, i cared less about, but his words

brought me in the garden of sheer delight.

when the wind bustled his sugary melodies

in the deep forest of my very own heart,

where my beats were his instruments of remedy.

and the trees swayed to the rhythm of the harp.

at twilight, he became the silent moon,

he never sang the blues but rose from the woes.

and it’s easier to doze off and turn into a cocoon

because my nights never again became my foes.


One Swallow Doesn’t Make a Summer

the love i once scattered on you,

were like rustling leaves

swaying to the rhythm of the wind.

together with autumn’s hues,

from pumpkin spice

to nutshells and acorns,

those are colours to warm you,

and your soft blue lips of ice

from last year’s winter feast,

when snowflakes were born.

the love you once pecked on me

was like air being taken away,

not in awe, nor amazed.

and the leaves in autumn

were maliciously stepped upon,

and crackling noises were heard,

but it’s probably from my heart.

and autumn’s hues

meant nothing to you

because your lips were never blue,

yet snowflakes covered you.

no warmth, but frosty bites,

and your heart was stiff as ice.

and when the snow starts to melt,

and the leaves decomposed,

i shall leave you all alone.

a welcome inside oblivion’s home

might help to warm my soul.

but in thoughts, you still appear,

and sometimes, it goes to the other ear.

i may not forget you right now

because love froze into a thick winter ice,

but slowly, it will melt each day.

and one day, i’ll be the autumn tree

who shakes every leaf away.

i know i’ll be empty.

but summer’s here and i’ll blossom.

and you will see the golden me.




a waxing crescent for every beam

only to be seen in the darkest hours.

but with strands of hair that gleams,

he bloomed among the sunflowers.

how are you my very own dreams,

my teardrops from the rain shower,

and the sweetness of my cream?

it muddles me as i am devoured

by every thought that scream.


i am, of the bitter and the sour,

but my cries are stronger than any stream

flowing around my ivory tower.

will you save me from the extreme?

or leave me like a perished flower,

still waiting to be redeemed?



When the door shuts behind you,

your curiosity grew louder

and what surrounds you,

don’t matter to you anymore.

but that lovely girl,

standing near the door

is the only single being

you ever cared the most.

and the door that kept shutting,

shall never be your fiend,

it knows your limitations

and what you must not know

in order for you to keep intact,

you leave the girl to be-

as lovely as she can be

is what you can only see.



Ticker Ticks Too

his ticker kept on beating,
following the melody
of every single tick
of the old grandfather clock.

his ticker was pounding
faster than he could imagine,
faster than every second
the clock could tick.

his ticker connects
to the sound of beats
of her thumping ticker
when they first meet.

his ticker continues
to hear each tick
she could ever make
when time is running so soon.

his ticker felt the unwanted ticks
that turned against him
when the clock strikes
at that time,

and he knew it was gone.


tick-tock, tick-tock,
there goes the grandfather clock,
every beat he made
would never sound the same.




He has a face perceived to be a novelty;
a face described in a typical fairytale
with the prince rescuing the princess
only I would devour myself to.

The smell of his fragrance
is strongly nostalgic and
intangible, but made me touched,
only I would be in a vivid dream.

The utterances he had articulated-
the words came out flawlessly
like an enthralling unknown story
only I would immerse myself to.

He has a face perceived to be a novelty;
a face I’d reckon being in a fairytale
with no queens or kings, but us,
only I would have remembered it before.


Ms. Right, He Despised

He suppressed his agonising thoughts
of being unwantedly alone,
after encountering a holder of silence-
a maiden who was mistakingly known
to be a phlegmatic being,
but inside, she was grandly more
than what the population is seeing.

He felt an urge in his throbbing heart;
the desire to share his desolation
with her and her preserved quietude
in order to make an imminent relation
despite their different attributes.

The pain in his ticker
is getting stronger with a new agony
that he’ll never stop to bicker.
He constantly dreamt his maiden
and ought to fathom her deeply.
Then later waking up in denial,
realising he missed her, dearly.

How is he enduring such woe?
If his maiden hadn’t expressed
the love he wished to hear
causing him to be distressed,
likewise to live with loneliness,
he utterly despised.
Now he regains his solitude
to provide himself some respite
from the inevitable suffering,
but he was unknowingly loved
by the maiden of silence
whom she first thought to be unloved.