Water ran out. The pipes were dry.
There was no telling whether
The faucet was close or open.
Just tightly turned clockwise or counter-
Clockwise. I still live there, waiting
For random rations or rain. Fooling myself
Of this impermanence. The plumbing
Brittle: from moss to dust to decay. I stay
And rot as the dirt engulf me. On lucky days,
I bathe. At my luckiest, I am clean,
And at my lowest, I write.
Tag: nature poems
If Hokusai Depicted the Shore
I wrote a poem inspired by an artwork at Singapore’s ArtScience Museum.
If Hokusai Depicted the Shore
I found that things do not stagnate
Always inching towards flourishing
Or decaying. Maybe enchanted
By the ocean or engulfed by the flood.
It is water in essence yet functionally
Different. I’ll fixate on this: Could they carry
A drowning man’s struggle for the surface
To the nearest shore? Please send
Help – someone help him float – hope
That it gets to the one gasping for air.
Give it a century, the man is absent
The shore is no more. The water’s
Approach to tranquility til there’s no more surface to cover. It would be difficult
To hope otherwise.
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