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rest

the leaves, as ever, are green
and lightly flutter with the faintest breeze
in this land without season,
but phantom shadows still haunt me
and all i see is the browning and falling
of everything about.

the curtain is drawn on
a furious year; desperate days gasp
to a sobbing, heaving close
and what you thought were eternal bonds,
forged of endless moments, perspiration
and tears, are nothing
more than the elusive wind,
memories and relationships of the stage.

thus we dwell and deal
in the superficial, skimming forever
on fragile surface, fearing what lies
below, of what may shatter the careful
illusion. thus we exist within the cracks
of what is real and we are content.

then let me clasp trembling hands
over the stillness of my breast
under the pungent dirt, tossed
carelessly with nary a glance
into the yawning chasm of self and soul;
let me utter under stifling clay
wretched cries drawn from
the well of infinite sorrow;
let me shed salty tears
into the grateful grasp of barren earth,

so let me rest.

My Third Term

Sports Day

For the fourth year running, my team finished second in the Parents-Teachers Race.

This year though i must admit i was somewhat culpable, having lost control of the exercise ball towards the end of my lap.

Oh well, at least it’s a familiar position.

Crab Flower Club

i thought it was an excellent production, especially in its blend of the profound and the comic.

i am grateful for 4I and 4M’s response.

Takeaways from organising this learning journey?

Make it compulsory.

Always.

And the night ended with an unsuccessful attempt to consume Rochor tau huey and a ten dollar note, hurriedly tossed.

Teachers’ Day

I really, really am thankful for the gifts/cards/cookies/candies/brownie.

Football and captain’s ball was fun.

The day a language teacher (EL, Mother Tongue whatever…) in Cedar wins the Greatest, Most Bestest, Fantabuloriffic, Super-Duper Devoted Teacher award, i will give a standing ovation and thereafter proceed outdoors to observe the rare phenomenon of aviating swines and buy 4D.

Sigh. Honestly.

Conclusion

Four and a half or five editions later, things really do lose their lustre.

Forgive me, Holy Father, for ever placing my trust, my hope, my joy, my comfort, my love in anyone or anything but You.

    Mad About English

    languige can ern money, meh
    engrish can it one, ah
    gahmen wan livesigns, leh
    dey wan enginear, leh
    den go an stardy mats lah!
    go an stardy signs lah!
    mats can it wan
    signs oso can
    can poot rice on de tehber
    dun pray pray okay!

    nex taam mus rite argue compo meh
    nex taam mus tok reedem meh
    nex taam mus in fur rens meh
    but
    nex taam can aply lo ga ri dem mah
    nex taam can tok ess ess mah
    nex taam haf too c contour mah
    nex taam mus ji de bio an chem notes mah

    ler ning not jus mug meh
    ler ning not jus ben midnite oi meh
    ler ning not jus ecksam teeps meh
    ler ning not jus sp oon fid meh

    god notes can aw reddy lah!
    god spot can aw reddy lah!
    god udder sk ool ecksam paypur can aw reddy lah!
    god ten yer see rees can aw reddy lah!

    god sex poin jiro can lah!
    god wan poin jiro can lah!
    god top fi can lah!
    god for A can lah!
    god dee gree can lah!
    god musters can lah!
    god pee haech dee can lah!
    god mahnee den confirmed can lah!

    languige ware can ern
    dun tok kok!

    So Express Yourself Day came and went.

    Perhaps it was the division of the Assembly, one featuring the Lower Secondary and the other the Upper Secondary.

    Perhaps it was the general dolour that has descended upon the school since the H1N1 measures took effect.

    Perhaps it just wasn’t as novel.

    But i thought it lacked a little something.

    Maybe it’s  just me.

    The end of the school year draws on apace, and, to be honest, i am grieved.

    What about exactly?

    That i’m still figuring it out. But, currently, i would put it down to soon having to bid another class farewell – one i’m deeply, deeply fond of ; how “you can’t please everyone”, as a colleague put it so aptly yesterday, with good intentions; and, as ever, a gnawing dissatisfaction with my expression of worship (i hesitate to honour my pathetic offering with such a hallowed title…) and the bloated, self-serving, navel-gazing, simpering, limp, histrionic excuse we call the C….. .

    rant. rant. rant.

    And i wonder why i’m more disposed towards verse as a form of self-expression these days.

     

    Deliver me from blood-guiltiness, O God, O God of my salvation,
    and my tongue will sing aloud of Your righteousness.
    O Lord, open my lips,
    and my mouth will declare your praise.
    For you will not delight in sacrifice, or i would give it;
    you will not be pleased with a burnt offering.
    The sacrifices of  God are a broken spirit;
    a broken and contrite heart, O God,
    you will not despise.

     

    As ever, holy Father, break me; till all i am, i am for you.

    Grief

    the grief -
    a seizure of the chest; shallow,
    desperate breaths; a cruel,
    slow, bleeding of my heart -

    seems at times too much
    to bear. and i wonder, how
    i can go on; how to continue
    to trudge within the gravid mud.

    wearily; worn more so
    by perceived ignorance, a staggering
    insensibility, or perhaps my
    inherent peripherality, my exiguous existence.

    so i continue, to dwell,
    buried, within the shroud
    of ignominy; where i will lift,
    at times, the darkened veil and cast

    my soundless sighs
    to a withered world.

    the ghost

    always, an expectant tilt
    of the head, as the bus
    trundles to a stop,

    and my eyes seek
    you, sifting frantically through
    the immaterial throng

    for the comforting warmth,
    like a well-worn blanket,
    of your presence.

    when you are not
    there, still your spirit
    haunts me; you are

    the ghost in my machine,
    traversing the crevasses
    of my soul, my mind.

    always. you will stay
    immortal, an unvanishing
    apparition in my memory.

    To my madness

    what shines with glaring clarity is
    the truth, how i exist

    only in your periphery -
    a shadow; a wraith -

    skirting the edges
    of your consciousness,

    if even that at all.

    yet, you, eclipse all
    else in me.

    no thought within, no beat
    of my heart, reflects not

    your winsome rays;i
    am encased in your amber glow.

    but you do not know

    the truth will set
    in tranquil depths,

    beyond the horizon
    of your gaze and grasp,

    and then fade
    with the dying light

    into dusk and gloom.

    if I could

    if I could write to you
    of my love, this would I say:

    that you are the best of us,
    that your heart shines through –

    more pure than purest gold,
    more beautiful than the sunrise,
    more precious than finest spun silk

    You are his wonderful creation,
    a creature beyond imagination.

    You rule my thoughts
    and fire my senses;
    and my soul thrills

    at the sight of you in the morning,
    at the tremulous note of your voice,
    in the silence that descends upon us.

    You capture me
    and I am yours.

    all at sea

    it seems there exists some uneasy
    truce, a fragile pact,
    which quickly wanes as
    the passing shadows of cloud
    blacken and shroud
    your glorious light,  which,
    for now, cuts right through
    the heavy darkness,
    illuminating a path through the
    tumultuous surface, below which
    churns the fury of unfathomable currents.

    i fear your passing.
    what will i do for light?
    who will be my hope?
    the violent beauty of the night
    engulfs me, as I sit
    crouched and wakeful.

    do not go

    do not go.

    one day

    one day

    i will see you

    hands locked in

    another’s; and i will

    weep.

    i will imagine:

    your words leaping off

    your lips,

    to his;

    your smiles,

    golden and coy,

    meant only for him;

    your heart,

    tremulous and pure,

    intertwined with his;

    you,

    utterly his.

    Utterly not.

    one day. today.

    i will weep.

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