The Halfway Verse

they safeguard strongly their greenery
waving outside the hdb blocks.
Like orange-faced strangers, passing
they hide in their foliage, clocks:

First Date

First Date

Fruit juice tastes sweeter when shared.
Slurped, passed between caressing hands
and slurped again. Better still, cross-armed
like entwined bows, lover's coat of arms.

I thank the Almighty we'd managed to land
a stall over aimless walking, frivolous talking
(in retrospect those things that took wing
between hurried lips were flawed). I remember

you pushing me a bill despite me covering
yours. We exchanged small talk like individual
cups of drinks, each tasting his life's own ironies.
The anecdotes shimmered like cupids, then vanished.
At times, your phone's light haloed you like a gaunt

angel. The juice's forced sweetness lingered; I craved
for more: a knowing glimmer that sometimes shines
between soulmates despite having crapped a bad
joke; subtle grins that whisper how the flower's
blossomed, before the straw slurps bottom.

The Prisoner in Hospital

The prisoner in hospital, chained feet
to hands, eyes of dystopian miseries.
Reads the floor like a Taoist priest
for signs of freedom. The cold concrete

floor gazes back like stern officers' eyes.
He's shuffled (in clinks & clanks) to a room
for tests, crown shaved like a shorn mushroom.
The officers jest like gods in blue disguise.

The prisoner requests (in hushed baritone)
for water. One vested cop brings him a cup,
holds it to his lips like a neutered pup.
Young nurses throng past, avert his testosterone-

charged gaze (he rakes them like a bear denied).
The grail is freedom; hands unbound like the patients.
The prisoner would rather the slow onslaught of ailments
& the post-visit train home with the passive-eyed.