Poem | |
La capinera's wintering pieces of tropic tunes
The garden warbler's echoes of dark melodies
Post-colonial poets return by summering fortunes
Learnt by rote as sacred Oxbridge duties
The French "pantoum" may be modeled on the Malay pantun,
or at least it may aspire to, but it does not adhere to its
fundamental compositional criteria. For the original prototype,
cf. T. Wignesan, "The Poietics of the Pantun" in Journal of the
Institute of Asian studies, Vol. XII, n° 2 (Chennai), March 1995,
pp. 1-15; reproduced with corrections in T. Wignesan. Sporadic
Striving amid Echoed Voices, Mirrored Images and Stereotypic
Posturing in Malaysian-Singaporean Literatures. Allahabad:
Cyberwit.net, 2008, pp. 49-67.
(c) T. Wignesan - Paris, 2012
More great poems below...
Poem | |
I am a creator.
Jack of all trades but a master of none.
I am a procrastinator.
Just always want to have fun.
I am a poet, A composer.
With a mouth like an unloaded gun,
A Skateboarder, A poser,
What will they think of my father’s son?
I am 30 but I don’t feel I am,
More like a 14 year old trying to grow a moustache, which I can’t!
Hate social media but has FB and Instagram.
The notebook of my experience and a selfie of me so tanned.
Not too tall or short. Average height from my land.
I am neither an Asian nor Singaporean, I am just a Man.
Believe in a world with no borders as much as I can.
Hoping dreams will come true so I can stop to pretend.
I am in love everyday for this, I only believe is real,
Profess as much as I can to my dearest of how I feel,
Countless mistakes with no regrets are my life’s ordeal,
Although jumping off cliffs are my favourite thrill,
I trust not in politics. My mind shut off and sealed.
Trying to get out of this matrix and all sorts of bills.
I manage for a living in an industry too ill.
Only these words can help me confess and heal.
My passion is thought. Thinking of everything that could be.
In love with the stars and the trees. The Divine Beauty!
Lost in the darkness of night with faint twinkle stars in this bright city.
Living in these moments with highest times. Here, it is never easy.
Contented. Appreciate. My creations are my reality.
Spread Kindness! Our actions are our only legacy.
Mysterious life. Within me a singularity.
I am. No one else in this Universe is like me.
April 8th, 2015
Poem | |
Loss fills the air
As people queue;
Death can speak
A common thread
Links us in gloom;
Dry humid March
Heat wave trials
Gun carriage cortège
Last journey route;
Heavy rains fall
People brave downpour;
Never seen before;
Six days of heatwave
Hellish hot and humid;
Seventh day torrent
What a great loss
A Singapore icon;
Stuff of legends
Old and young
All races here;
Braving the rain
Sea of faces
Shouting your name;
Mood of the moment
Loss feeds the strain;
Sky oozes tears
You cried for us in '65,
2015 we cry for you;
Huge debt owed
Our hearts know that;
Rainy salute squares
See the flags
The heartlands wave;
Broken hearts wail
History will write
We will remember;
Two names stand out:
Lee Kuan Yew lived
A people mourn,
In your passing;
We gel as one
Rest now in sure peace
Your work is done;
Sign a few words
Condolence Book filled;
29 March 2015