My Pseudo Lover

“My Pseudo Lover” by Esmond Ng 30/08/12 © Copyright

We met, the unlikeliest of places in,
Over periwinkles and happily ever-afters.
You laughed initially, at the girl of dreams my,
But soon you saw, what really meant I.

We coupled, our fixations shared,
Remote and absurd but our inhibitions bared.
You suggested we chat and did we,
A bee to flower it soon daily be.

We dreamt of each other funny,
For never met had we.
And we heard each other’s soul acutely,
Though our voices, too had not we.

I became your morning addiction,
And you, I didn’t make known, became mine.
I wrote you poems and messages sweet,
Some that made you tingled, multiply.

We made Love, cuddled and caressed,
Through our thoughts and words unclad.
We made Love on our minds’ ends,
The longings we couldn’t repress.

I had thought we should have next stepped,
I had thought we both were ready.
But guesses me over Sunday no not maybe,
That sure, my Pseudo Lover isn’t yet she.

Now she distanced seems,
My fault, I keep blaming me.
Why the haste so,
Why stupidly did I do, what did me.

She dilemmas over us,
And rightly so should she.
As in her mind reruns our memories,
So I too, her pinky promises to me.

Rereading our writings umpteenly,
Unknowingly attached have become me.
And all this while I tried to steal pieces of your heart,
You had already taken mine completely.

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In Memory

In Loving Memory of Stephanie Tan Lai Chan (23/01/89 – 01/01/10)

“In Memory” by Esmond Ng 02/01/10 © Copyright

I would see you almost every other day,
But yet you, I’d not know beyond your name.
Too few hellos and goodbyes we’d have,
Time too haste, too fast to chase.

We shared too, too little exchanges;
Of hearty smiles and laughter candor.
Of our ups and downs, and cheer and fears.
Fair in times like these never, know not I will ever.

I’d never know how your demeanor,
Of what your friends about you say.
How you’d react to the funny things, I have yet no chance to say.
Know not I will ever, this friend I have yet to truly make.

For our God has chosen for you,
To His bosom side to stay.
And though we’ll all miss you in our each own ways,
We’d like you to know, you were not in vain.

For your memories and image they live on,
In those whom sighted you as you blazed along.
Like a comet gone too soon,
We’ll reminisce till we’re blazed out too.

In three weeks 21 you’d be,
“Happy Birthday, Steph!” to you from me.
A final teary “Goodbye” for now it seems,
Hearts, your family, friends and me.

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The Lead Box

“The Lead Box” by Esmond Ng 08/01/09 © Copyright

Choices not apparent the always,
Deceivable most times the case,
If be uninvolved so snap smooth the first place,
Then what of choice would be it in dawning preface?

How we then make verdict of it all?
Consensus concord a volition pray.
For some in haste and foolhardy made,
Regrettable woeful will afflict its place.

Bassanio too was worriment engaged,
For dependent was Portia on his take.
Should gold, silver or lead be his box picked?
Should he cull a coward pick?

As stairs of sand they wear upon their chins,
The beard of Hercules and all their fancy things.
But inward with their milk’d white livers,
So too the precious metal boxes contain.

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