Love Ends

Written by: D S Dhanvin (24-E4), He le (24-A2), Kar Teng (24-I2) and Yong Bo (24-E1)

Designed by: D S Dhanvin (24-E4) and Xavier Lee (24-02)

love means...

what does it mean to love?

comes that stray thought in an autumnal dream

of ardent reds and prideful oranges

coloring her life’s hackneyed green—

this, perhaps, is what it means to love;

she thinks, bounding upon the sixth cloud

scattering seeds of affection

for her dearest songbird to laud—

or this could be what it means to love;

she thinks, sidling up to her maybe-lover

her face frozen in a melting grin

as a flustered secret lingers near her ear—

and this must be what it means to love; 

swallowing nebulous regrets as couple bells leer,

the skies cloudy and overcast as she

wishes upon a star that was never hers—

or maybe this is what it means to ‘love’? 

her bitter thoughts spiralling from a passionless tryst 

sinking into a stranger’s bed of rotting nutysia

miserably missing misplaced time—

—this may be what is meant by love;

she thinks again when, alone, they find each other,

sharing sweet nectar under spring moonlight

falling like rose petals, ever farther—

is this what it means to love?

she wonders, watching the curl in her companion’s lips

as unassuming laughter spills like warmest 

sunlight post-eclipse—

surely this is what it means to love; 

when she smiles at the thought of her muse

and so her stagnant grey sea

swirls into tides of jeweled blues—

and this is what her love means (she thinks, at least):

the gentle waves that wash your sandy feet,

the songs of spring bluebirds and summer ibis,

the glowing stars that your constellations lead,

near your petals, the contented buzz of bumblebees,

the clouds that tenderly cup your solar cheeks,

an etcetera in incessant, ongoing, unending lists…

…So this is what it means to love;

she had thought, in breathless earnest

years and years ago, 

when she had met you first.

burning plastic

and if you didn’t love me— like i loved you— then i would give you flowers. and if you didn’t believe me— that i loved you— then i would forge you flowers from poison.

i would hold plastic over my white-hot flames and burn, burn, burn.

i would melt the venom at its roots, then twist the toxins at the top.

i would do it all, all to fold myself into a burning plastic rose for you.

Fish

There’s plenty of them. They all drift and sprint about, in so many colours and shapes, all uniquely pretty and mesmerising.

But, when I try to catch them in my broken dinghy, they pull against my net like hell. ‘The few that I try to catch, Are members of some rowdy batch’, I tell myself. Sometimes my net breaks,taking months to fix.

Yet some part of me knows, Slippery slimy fish prefer bigger boats To mine.Though I won’t crush and hurt them like yacht owners do but still, they prefer those bleached boats to my simple dinghy.

But, I love them still. Those kind looks, daring days, to the twilight chats with them and the moon, where my ugly heart is seen,my fears, my rage, all easily gleaned by them all.

Both of you accept me. You don’t hate me. Present and kind, that’s what you two were.

But, my fish deserted me again, the moon going too. They always say,

there’s plenty

of fish in the sea,

But some days I just feel, that there just isn’t

one for

me.

A “Chinese” New Year

My father walked outside

with firecrackers

and, burnt them alive,

while his family watched

for a start to the new year.

And I sat in a room,

trying to ignore

the screaming

and our shouting

that went on and off,

finding any way

to go back to the home

where I left him,

only for me to remember

he was cremated too.

Then there was silence in the house again.

Before long, I heard more fireworks outside.

And I could hear his crying,

then my own silence

as I was left there

looking to his memories,

through ash 

and through tears

seeking that love

For another year.