The books i gave to her out of affection are torn

I gave her the books out of my affection for her
Red leather bound, vintage
Musty, old
But in such good condition like yours truly
I smile when I recall her look of amazement when I gave them to her
At one time I thought she was attracted to me
But like a cold sweet morning mist her favor that held so much promise has vanished
And I feel the searing heat of the a midday's indifference.

I asked her about the books the other day
and her reply was that she was with her boyfriend!

! The Fuck.

any other reply would have been more preferable
Much more.
Fucking anything

Like...
"I'm sorry I haven't had the time to read them yet"
"Yes they were really nice but I'm awfully busy am have only read a page or too"

or "Sorry no time lah, sweetie"

even a cool ambiguous reply would have suffice, " Yeah, later dude"

Tell me some sweet lie
or simple dead silence

Silence would have been preferable
then I can guess and wait
I can imagine

Is it wrong to feel this way?
to feel the need to be loved or cherished?
to be held in affection?

But if at a door I see a lady approach
I will open it for her and perform the courtesies.


I should know if I wanted appreciation or applause I should have joined the circus.

Coldness

I wrote this poem on my balcony in Singapore back in 1990 when I was doing my national service in the army. There was this beautiful girl who was my next-door neighbor. We went out a couple of times. She seemed to like me but there was someone else that held her attention.

Once during a rain shower I saw her run outside merrily in that carefree girlish manner of hers and play a game of badminton with her much younger sister.

I remember the smile on YN's face.

At that time, well even now, I was infatuated with her. I did go out with her a couple of times. But I was too socially awkward to make a favorable impression - plus she was a bit of a tease and I had major difficulties listening to her soft spoken voice.

But for a boy that spend 3 years in an all-boy boarding school - followed by 2 years in the army - seeing her - going out her - and even having her rest on my bed (nothing happened) was one of the painful and overwhelming highlights of my life.


Something within me yields
Seeing you playing in the rain.
I long to join you
but behind pained glass I stand
Contemplating thinking
Murmurings within my soul
I don't know what to say to you.

Love you?
I don't know
Yet I feel something
And something within me yields
Watching you in the rain

I feel, I feel a longing to fill this coldness
in my soul with you
And to join you playing in the rain

but I know it can never be
With your cold eyes and indifferent smile
I can gauge and tell that all I can ever do
Is to watch you playing in the rain

Now I hear your footsteps
Outside my door
Shuffling, quietly
You turn the key and slam your door

But your laughter, your giggling
In whose arms are you love making?
I hear it, I hear it all
And gently
Gently accept the coldness in my soul.
CYM 1990

Return of a friend

I wrote this a year ago. A friend was traveling to the former French Indochina - and I was worried about her.

Casually I wrote this:

Sun, dawn, Sky, rain
Bring my friend back to me again

She eventually returned but not as my friend.

Text Message Love

She writes, and her words dance across my mind.
Shimmering text (on my screen), that gleam magically.
A world away, an ocean apart, her small little fonts touch my heart.
 (in my cold room on this cold winter night.)
Yauming Chiam 2012.

(A female friend who was thousands of miles overseas sent me a small innocuous message. It was such a minor albeit humorous remark. But in my mind I saw her smile and it made me smile too. And it drew me out of my gloom. My room was freezing that night.)

The slim Peranakan girl

Sun, dawn, Sky, rain
Bring my friend back to me again

The House on the Hill

I wrote this poem back in Jan 2005 when I found this old abandoned mansion in Chancery Hill Road. The owner's son had moved overseas and was unable to return because he didn't do his National Service. 

The owner had passed away sometime in the 1950s leaving dishes in the sink to wash, clothes in the cupboards, photos of horse racing on the walls - apparently they were wealthy enough to own race horses, and old art deco furniture.

In 2009, the new owners had the place razed to the ground, nothing of the place remains now.

The abandoned house left a powerful impression upon me. And I wrote this poem shortly after I visited the place.

The house on the hill
stands silent and still
Its front door is locked
Its windows are open.
Old cupboards are inside
Filled with dusty dresses
And worm-eaten books
The old house waits
Waiting for master
Waiting for mistress
But no one returns

Singapore Balcony 1am Draft 1

Soft is the velvet night sky

Quiet is the black night air

A gentle breeze passes by

In silence we patiently wait for dawn

Random thoughts

On her epitaph, it was written: here lies a mother who gave her husband's inheritance to her children to strange men.

Descent 2

Alone in a sea of strangers
Trawling through the babel of voices
I feel confusion
I feel dread
A rising tide of madness confronts me

Then I descend to the depths
And the black beast does not follow
I hear my breath
In the stillness of the ocean womb
I feel my senses align
Alone in the depths

Down in the deep depths
I find the solace I seek
In this silent world
So alien to humanity
I am at peace.
Chiam Yau-ming 2012