esmondng on February 28th, 2011
“I, Always” by Esmond Ng 28/02/11 © Copyright
When the night is in night,
And the dark becomes dark.
Then when its silence begin to ring,
There my ears for you be.
Tale upon rain,
And story upon storms.
Tell and tears bring to the weary,
My shoulders for you lean.
And with it winds,
Cold to the bone chilling.
If nothing warms this world seems,
Come and into my embrace me.
When it feels rather burdened,
And beyond floods they weigh in.
Should your feet crumble fall,
You unto me I shall carry.
For when all these dissipate,
With you I will be left standing.
For you when lost, in pitch sky I was,
Compassing for you always; a light shining.
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esmondng on March 11th, 2009
“Time in Some Place” by Esmond Ng 11/03/09 © Copyright
Miraculous it may seem,
Fate works its ways in us beings.
For never did I imagine could be,
What I seek’d in front of me.
Once I hanker’d and once I did receive,
Paints of memories and etch’d it did.
An innocent Romeo & Juliet story,
Coincidences in most everything.
Like the end of tragic Love stories,
Too ours perhaps guileless and naïve.
But these flowers its’ scent can’t be erased,
Even long after they’re gone we had our Time in some place.
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esmondng on July 22nd, 2008
“My Diary” by Esmond Ng © copyright 17/05/05
I have a diary.
Which I write of things I can’t express here.
My inner most thoughts and feelings I unreservedly explicit.
Of which many are glum and melancholy.
I have a diary.
It be where my solace is.
For no other can relate to me; the way it can, truly.
Experiences, my journal; my life story.
If Heaven so decree and unkind be,
Let me make my final entry.
Then let the world be made known,
That this be my best work yet.
For the essence of my diary,
Is really what my Life means.
That no word in existence more appropriate,
Describe what Pain be.
So is this end of road for me?
If so really, pray do read my diary.
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esmondng on July 22nd, 2008
“You told me” by Esmond Ng 29/03/05 © copyright
I’ve waited such a lonely time, yearning for nothing less,
of what past poets express’d with pens.
The plot beyond words, and story beyond thoughts,
oh how tough it was, the search.
But when my eyes met those windows of thee,
your very soul it pour’d to me.
A strange unexplainable feeling overwhelm’d it did,
the Holy One must have brought thee to me.
How we surpass’d writers of past, with no words we achiev’d more;
with no pens we wrote scores.
Music never as melodic, voices never so in one.
Thou need’d not say, I would the message.
Yes, you told me everything. Amazingly without anything saying.
Yet why need I explain, you told me already.
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