Where Were You?

Where were you last night?

And the night before?

What is this strange scent?

Whose glove is this by the door?


Where were you last weekend?

Why didn’t you answer my call?

Was it you that made the hinge squeak at 5?

You know, from the door in the hall?


What’s this red petal on your collar?

What’s this stain on your coat?

What have you been up to?

What’s this smudge on your throat?


You really are a wandering minstrel

You tiny rescued scoundrel

You really need to mend your ways

Because I’ll follow you out one day.



I Can Dream. Right?

I insist on being polite

And have raised the kids to be so.

I persist in believing there is kindness and good

Even when there are bullies and sadists, I know.


Why can’t we resist the urge to insult or taunt?

To hurt with words or deeds?

Can’t the world consist of more angels and givers

Than narcissists or brokers of power and greed?


Be a synthesist of hope and humanity

Cease and desist with the cruelty and hate.

Build bridges and bonds of love and faith

Spread honour, kindness and trust instead.




Go tidy your room

Go read your book

Go practise your violin

Go do your homework


It’s now 10 pm

It’s time to sleep

It’s now 6 am

It’s time to wake


Go for your tuition

Go for your class

Go for your practice

Go for your game


Why can’t you be

More like your cousins?

They’re doing so well

You are so useless


Go revise your work

Go take your vitamins

Go clean your shoes

Go wash your bottle


You are so lacking

In initiative and imagination

You are so useless

You can’t do anything.





WP6 210118

photo credit: jessica henderson


… a new identity: husband, wife, an “us” to grow

… role: father, mother, a family to build

… persona: changing perspectives of the world

… behaviours: changes perceived by the world

… lessons: teaching a child

… learning: taught by the child

… a hole: a munchkin leaving for college

… a new whole: husband, wife, an “us” to grow



I Have Issues With Tissues

I’ve always thought of tissues
As cellular matter:
An ensemble of cells
To make us stronger or fatter.
As little square sheets
For wiping food splatters,
Or stifling our sneezes
In the midst of our chatter.

Then came the revelation,
The dismayed observation
That tissues could be …
Tools of reservation!

Hungry people prowled,
With trays laden with food.
Tables around them sat vacant
Yet some ate where they stood.

The reason, you see,
Is this phenomenon called ‘chope’.
In hawker centres and food courts,
Want a seat? See the tissues? Abandon hope.
Because every packet of tissues
Marks a reserved lot;
Each owner will be back
With his food, to his spot.

But must we obey tissues?!
Can’t we toss them aside?
Who started this ‘chope’ thing anyhow?
Why must we all abide?

These packets of tissues
Should not be more powerful than laws.
Tissues are for blowing noses
And wiping sweat off our jaws.

Yet we’ve allowed this -
This bizarre situation
Where a tiny inanimate oblong
Is a tool of reservation.