A Luxury We Cannot Afford

"In 1969 ‘he who cannot be named’ declared: "Poetry is a luxury we cannot afford."

ALWCA is a poetic response to the myths and narratives that loom large around ‘he who cannot be named’. It is part homage, critique, analysis, rant, fiction, representation, exploration, examination and antidote to The Man."

I wish I was living in Singapore when A Luxury We Cannot Afford was launched at the Arts House. I wish I was there to drink in the energy and wit of the poets while they read their pieces. I even imagined the goose pimples on the skin of my neck listening to them despite the fact that I haven't had a whiff of the freshly printed book yet. My hands tremble slightly at the knowledge they will get to immediately devour the book when it shows up.

The below two attempts were submitted for consideration but you know already why they are here instead. :)

The Damned

A companion of mine was these pages with a bind.

Once I peered into its core and saw

Its red-inked outpour,

Weaving words into the fragile lace of truth,

Its pure gold bedazzling and its beauty a-glowing

One day I turned it backwards and began to read.

The lace was torn, the gold dull and the beauty broken

Because backwards is the wand that conjures truth into deceit.

A blasphemy whispered by a sorcerer.

Cursed is my companion.

For my salvation, I bestowed upon it

Eternity in the forgotten dungeon of solitary,

A mountain of conscience bearing down on its spine.

So none shall ever breathe its poisonous whiff.

There was no water.

There was no sun.

But asphalt flowers grew through bricks and stones.

Red, blue, yellow, white.

My disdain I could not conceal.

My fear I could not subdued.

I banished it to more deep locks and keys.

In the stillness of the night I hear

It grows bigger and bigger.

Its long arms and legs of falseness feeding it,

Moving it forwards and forwards,

Thirsting for my neck.

But I am my rock,

I am my mountain,

I am my law,

My long arms snuffing out the maddening buzz.

I know they need me.

I know they do.

Run Baby Run

Run baby run

Before you stumble upon fear

Before he hears you

Run baby run

To where the blind-folded lady stands

To where the oak tree roots

To where your heart bursts with white moon and stars

But your soul is already a-blooming

Don't slow down

Don't let the terror of unknown fill you, thrill you.

He smells the last straw in the night.

He implores that his ears listen.

Collecting hearts and minds, his tongue strives.

Not to the dark side,

For he is the tireless workhorse,

Whose sweat and blood is in the mighty dream.

Like Lear, the serpent's tooth he fears.

A sheep I am not, you say.

But his eyes refuse to wonder.

Your love is true.

Your heart did not fail to see.

Rainfall is when mother left,

Rainbow is when he brought quarrelling siblings together,

Crimson night sky is when you finally have a room,

Bright shiny clouds is when more food is on the table,

While his lips impart values so you know your decorum.

With his iron fist, you daren't go astray.

It pains you to bite the hand.

Never in his wildest dreams does he think you would dare.

He doesn't yet know.

You are no more an ape but a soaring butterfly.

You don't walk the old ways anymore.

But on a new road paved with stories and songs to keep you warm.

He doesn't yet know.

The cane used on you will be used on him.

The karma police will catch up with him.

So, run baby run.

The coffin lid has closed.

The tortoises and the whales will remember

The mountains and the hills do not forget

The heavens and the earth bear witness.

So, come baby come.