Beautiful Stranger

Beautiful Stranger,

Whoever you are.

Stealing away my soul,

Steps you build in your stride.

Is this the lover I never had?

Clothed in luxury brands while cigarette on hand,

Chain-smoking like a chimney,

Face in the fog of that nicotine pack.

Portly and tall in silhouette,

The voice of a high price, high road player.

You are wild and uncouth a ruffian,

Big and rough like a bear,

But quietly in fur tenderness,

I wish I could draw in closer.

You strut like a storm,

A tornado wind in the mindful heads,

Like the earth have no hold and won’t soil you.

You say grand words stopping short ever so clumpsily,

As though it should be understood vague,

While the rest of what it means is just action to take.

That Man should not say much but prove change,

To be more than the young ways of youth.

You are not for me,

As I am not for you.

But you seem to last and stir the blood in me,

Leaving behind the longing of you.

So here you are,

I have only seen you so brief,

Again trying to sniff your wafted breath,

Just moments you spoke, walked and left by.

-Vander

Disclaimer: All poetry and fiction here are original material written by Vander. Please note that all text references, descriptions and indications are purely fictional (make-believe if you didn’t know what fiction is!) and is in no relation to any actual entities).

This Deadend Job

(This is a work of make-believe only, like all other poems. It is not real or related to myself.)

This deadend job of mine

Is toiling ahead in the pursuit of despair

Self casting into storm holes of guilt and shame

No shades of questions to contemplate

Or room to argue for an “okay”

Or truth to obey by papered black and whites

Sent snapshots probably for the display, oh hey!

The high nose pride chauvinistic boss

The colleagues selfish to consider a foot

The welfare system is a show of face

Procedures a mess of organized games

Employees hammered on carded disgrace

Deadend, deadend

Dead to the end and chained to the desk

Can’t attain potential figure growing sales

Lose the mark of your future so quickly down ladder

Soul-blind and salary baited one continues

When all happiness does and cries Gawd, I’m so confused!

- Vander

Disclaimer: All poetry and fiction here are original material written by Vander. Please note that all text references, descriptions and indications are purely fictional (make-believe if you didn’t know what fiction is!) and is in no relation to any actual entities).

Perfect In The Broken

Hello Broken, how have you been today?

Are you still finding the perfect in the broken you?

You should know that you are not so neat, prim-groomed and tidy,

Not so ladylike day and night when a lady,

Not so best in everything you are supposed to be at home, work and else,

At best still quite broke as a broken.

You could still be who you want to,

Find the perfect in your broken,

Strike a pose of confidence,

As you tell them “I am Who!”

In the clothes you love to wear,

That natural without powdering up when people meet you.

For if they find you smiling all day,

Close to the falling edge,

All will know you ran away the chaos and endured the roast,

And so it is this piece of distress you cannot blame.

- Vander

Disclaimer: All poetry and fiction here are original material written by Vander. Please note that all text references, descriptions and indications are purely fictional (make-believe if you didn’t know what fiction is!) and is in no relation to any actual entities.

Nobody's Child

Harry sat on the wire of a fence,

Looking at his life melt away,

When Fog came today,

Into the dusk of the demesne.

Blur shadows overcast manors,

Dancing different forms with the light.

Same forlorn figure at the bus stop,

Travelling his own reflection years ago.

Ashamed, remembering why all this while,

This empty and heartless world,

Never gave more chances to exile,

Hard truths, bitter moments,

Back to ready budding, consoling warmer homes.

Am I loser? Am I not wanted?

A nobody’s child without protectors or guardians,

Roots cripple to its shorter brother,

In the dead search of safer earth after earth.

- Vander

Disclaimer: All poetry and fiction here are original material written by Vander. Please note that all text references, descriptions and indications are purely fictional (make-believe if you didn’t know what fiction is!) and is in no relation to any actual entities.

Like The Sun

Like the sun that rises and sets again,

Every single day with ever more days,

The eternal beam forces its bright lights,

Onto everything and everybody.

Healing and putting you and every back on their feet.

Like the sun conceived by warmth and energy,

No moon can eclipse you for too long,

Clouds too dense to sever your summer everlast,

Mountains too high to block your vista.

Like the sun who will go up into the sky one more time,

Not gonna care how long it can stand on its own,

High above till the timely right hour of rest.

Sometimes late at arrival and departure,

But always better than never,

Pulling the big and small of planets together.

You, the Captain Leader of the Solar order.

- Vander

Disclaimer: All poetry and fiction here are original material written by Vander. Please note that all text references, descriptions and indications are purely fictional (make-believe if you didn’t know what fiction is!) and is in no relation to any actual entities.

You Are A Firebird

You are a Firebird,

Glowing through the skyline.

Blazing hot onto cool clouds,

Taking flight against pushing gravity.

Not bothering about the petty and minute,

A lion among the sheep.

Sparkles rivet by your flame igniting,

Ashes from your wings drizzle trailing pass.

Your gaze seeks our minds for understanding,

And we seek yours.

No one said you were real,

As the myth engulfed you in mystery.

Soaring above me, you the Firebird.

Frost can wait wherever you are,

Darkness goes away as you star.

- Vander

Disclaimer: All poetry and fiction here are original material written by Vander. Please note that all text references, descriptions and indications are purely fictional (make-believe if you didn’t know what fiction is!) and is in no relation to any actual entities.

Cool Girls Cry Too

Tears and fears, by minute or years,

Might be the cool girl’s will and power,

In delving for hope in struggle.

There was this girl who knew she had not been loved,

Felt like the world gave her away,

Her removal, banded and planned in foray

By Her quiet reserve,

An obvious genre of abandonment.

A missing forever in the hearts of men.

A fire burns out of her gaze as she looks out upon emptiness.

Having a “cool” poised strength and independence.

Living life’s trivialities didn’t bother her,

And true love was unimportant.

Cool girl was supposed to smile as though

The sun, moon and stars collided

And lifted her to supreme.

As though luck and the entire universe conspired,

And made her the impossible deity

Capable of doing and undoing the impossible.

Cool girl never kept her cool at all times,

To be every while the great ineffable,

Chain-crying, if turned.

- Vander

Disclaimer: All poetry and fiction here are original material written by Vander. Please note that all text references, descriptions and indications are purely fictional (make-believe if you didn’t know what fiction is!) and is in no relation to any actual entities.

Boulevard of Broken Dreams

Like the ghost walking the empty road,

The long boulevard of broken dreams.

Where sometimes it wants to be seen,

The ghostly existence thins, fades into translucence.

Lighter and lighter by the silhouette,

Soon it’s shade mistaken for nothing.

Longing for a voice to let all hear the ghost,

Only multiple footsteps thudding the pavements,

But no one can hear ghost talk.

A former writer never famous, rich or loved,

This ghost had a dream.

It writes with the madness of passion and forlorn,

A convincing statement for a conviction,

Though efforts punctured into dust.

So ghost walks the street boulevard of broken dreams,

Lost into the night,

And forgotten by time.

- Vander

Disclaimer: All poetry and fiction here are original material written by Vander. Please note that all text references, descriptions and indications are purely fictional (make-believe if you didn’t know what fiction is!) and is in no relation to any actual entities.

Hate, Hated And Hatred

When we stare at the mirror to soul-search,

Hate sears into our reflection.

Are we a person judging in prejudice?

Have we received the unfair prejudice?

Now, they say hate will run its own course,

Devouring anything in its footpath.

When nasty thoughts bring out impossible diabolical behaviours,

Are we still led to think that there is still a remnant of humanity?

Might humans not forget themselves?

So, how can we throw out the hate,

If we don’t believe in each of our differences?

We have to move in the high resistance opposite direction.

Commit leaps of faith, accept difficult love,

Any love that will build arks against storms.

-Vander

Disclaimer: All poetry and fiction here are original material written by Vander. Please note that all text references, descriptions and indications are purely fictional (make-believe if you didn’t know what fiction is!) and is in no relation to any actual entities.

The Wolf Behind The Smoke

Behind smothering thick smoke,

Revealed in the gap of a gradual diminish,

Is a wolf staring out in waiting.

Decimated lands and houses burnt to crisp,

Nightmare still heard throughout

Of the screams that reverberate across the hills of massacre.

The lone wolf, like the lonely witness in the wake of tragedy

Stands before the smoke in clearing,

Shooting pains out of its wounds,

Tall on its paws and foot.

The power of the wolf’s will allows it to live like it demands

As though the wolf had a fire that fought fire.

When news broke that the town was set ablaze mowed down to a still,

They did not know that behind the smoke

Was the one wolf who saw and knew the malice,

Like a dearest friend behind the wheel.

- Vander

Disclaimer: All poetry and fiction here are original material written by Vander. Please note that all text references, descriptions and indications are purely fictional (make-believe if you didn’t know what fiction is!) and is in no relation to any actual entities.

Chopin's Embrace

Windows open,

The whirl of a breeze enters the room.

The mellow piano in soft tinkling keys

With a propelling force,

Accentuated a steep turmoil in its menace.

Calm and restlessness,

A spring leaf on thin ice.

Halcyon afternoon tea next to a music-laden window,

Complexity to the senses in revelation to octave progressions,

Held by the warmth of a Chopin’s embrace.

-Vander

Disclaimer: All poetry and fiction here are original material written by Vander. Please note that all text references, descriptions and indications are purely fictional (make-believe if you didn’t know what fiction is!) and is in no relation to any actual entities.

The King's Blessing

On a fair day the King presented a gift to her.

She was not a fair princess, an enchanting songstress, or a dutiful wife.

But she was to the King every single while,

Beautiful in his sight.

She was fearless,

Her courage can rival the bravest men of the lands.

Her words inspired wisdom in the folks she met,

And, although her small talents were not quite spectacular,

She mended the hearts of the dismayed as she wept for them.

She brought to life,

Things that were thought to be expired or broke,

An authentic gusto,

A joy in soothe that came with promises of hope.

So pain was never in vain,

And there was always another way.

So the King told her that she was so very precious

Even on those days when her shine seems to dim to the nights

The divine King blessed her with a love that never fails.

In the best of his gifts,

A celestial band opens all

Doors heavy and heaving at her.

Her forever wings of endurance.

- Vander

Disclaimer: All poetry and fiction here are original material written by Vander. Please note that all text references, descriptions and indications are purely fictional (make-believe if you didn’t know what fiction is!) and is in no relation to any actual entities.

In The Bath

I bet husband will sigh out loud to wife and say,

“She” is going to take her time to bathe again.

To keep a wife as beautiful as she is, she retorts:

Can’t you wait as I make myself thoroughly clean?

Do you not sympathize my need to lather and wash,

Away all my fears and anxieties.

Have a war or two inside my head,

As the water is running,

Soap’s foaming and dripping,

This scrub is the purification 

Of mind, body and soul.

So don’t rush, don’t push me to hurry,

Impatience is not my responsibility.

-Vander

Disclaimer: All poetry and fiction here are original material written by Vander. Please note that all text references, descriptions and indications are purely fictional (make-believe if you didn’t know what fiction is!) and is in no relation to any actual entities.

Fake

As a fake that does not belong,

To a fake pretence in a fake surreality. 

Donald shelters in the mask of truth,

The uninvited vermin goes unnoticed.

Watch me and discipline me, he said.

Buying more machines of convenience,

Benefit to the humbug, wily profiteer.

-Vander

Disclaimer: All poetry and fiction here are original material written by Vander. Please note that all text references, descriptions and indications are purely fictional (make-believe if you didn’t know what fiction is!) and is in no relation to any actual entities.

Glass Heart

Hunted by men, the mermaid said:

My heart is a glass,

Shattered and shattering into shards. 

As I bury them in bloodied hands,

Never rekindled into a whole. 

Remaining fragile and divided,

Into shapeless isolated parts.

The glint of its surface is still pretty,

Shimmery and sharp,

Cut and broken from afar.

-Vander

Disclaimer: All poetry and fiction here are original material written by Vander. Please note that all text references, descriptions and indications are purely fictional (make-believe if you didn’t know what fiction is!) and is in no relation to any actual entities.

The Forgotten Merlion

The forgotten Merlion is one of a rare conundrum.

It is in the middle of somewhere and in the middle of nowhere.

Successful people in the world have heard of its ingenuity,

But they would have forgotten sooner.

It is young, but it is not that very young,

A cultural disposition and a displaced former.

Uncertain about where it truly belongs.

Struggling to stay afloat, to make its ends meet.

Dreams are supposed to come true for the forgotten Merlion.

No matter what dreams they are.

If any tinge and sparkle of magic remains on it,

It is to drinking port with the stern utilitarian.

A strange vision envelops the forgotten Merlion,

Where vanity and desolation tower hills,

Pure hearts exchanged for cash,

Tug-of-war between haves and have-nots.

It cannot speak out loud for itself with the courage that it has,

The courage it seems to instil and protest.

If the forgotten Merlion is seeping in Anonymous, 

Then the shadow of it too, is surely forgotten. 

-Vander

Disclaimer: All poetry and fiction here are original material written by Vander. Please note that all text references, descriptions and indications are purely fictional (make-believe if you didn’t know what fiction is!) and is in no relation to any actual entities.

The Expressionist

The expressionist is like an ancient woman,

A goddess of language.

She shapes the fabric of modernity unperturbed by retrospect.

Undefined by superficialities and plastics,

She infuses meaning into words Herculean.

So the expressionist doeth and sayeth,

The common and taken for granted by humanity,

Into new light and the necessary.

It is said the expressionist is hypersensitive selfish,

Master to a set of rules and expectations.

Denouncing the impudence of the brazen, shallow gauche. 

Her perception only permits for her to perceive,

And the naming of that perception is for her to claim.

The expressionist waits for no one to decide for her,

All the imaginations of the universe to uncover.

In any age, people wait and chase the expressionist.

Only the expressionist remembers for them, 

What they have lost and long for.

The expressionist concentrates on the finest moment of the second. 

It will pass her, but she has received the emblazoned fact.

Her gentle strength follows an order,

Her unspoken speech implores the conscious.

-Vander

Disclaimer: All poetry and fiction here are original material written by Vander. Please note that all text references, descriptions and indications are purely fictional (make-believe if you didn’t know what fiction is!) and is in no relation to any actual entities.

The Duty Of Invisibility

So they say the limelight actor desires to be nobody,

Simple to be a trivial commoner.

A trivial person is not a trivial matter. 

If no one is aware that he exists,

His existence is more powerful than those greatly remembered.

His absence is not quite an absent.

He can be who he really is, or was, or to be,

And not be concerned about the cares, norms and laws of us.

His duty in order to be free,

Is to conscientiously display,

Be and believe in his invisibility

Day by day

All this while even as he gains some fame.

-Vander

Disclaimer: All poetry and fiction here are original material written by Vander. Please note that all text references, descriptions and indications are purely fictional (make-believe if you didn’t know what fiction is!) and is in no relation to any actual entities.

Hope

Is Hope only for the chosen?

Where there is a chosen few.

Does Hope desire its lot inasmuch as hope is the mass of wants?

If the wise man tells you there is hope for the hopeless,

Is it a hideous lie you must not deceive yourself?

For many thought hope has only sought out its privileged ones.

Still so many live by not another hopeful day,

Never hoping or realising hope comes true,

Even when their joy giving to others is the reason.

-Vander

Disclaimer: All poetry and fiction here are original material written by Vander. Please note that all text references, descriptions and indications are purely fictional (make-believe if you didn’t know what fiction is!) and is in no relation to any actual entities.

Humans On Sale

The economist knows

Every human will be on sale, 

A particular value placed in the tiered order of society.

Some humans are sold at a higher price than others wherein the tag differs,

But nonetheless the sale will be done and exacted in harmony.

For the human to earn his freedom, the submission is himself as commodity.

The human has to be sold to the sale and offer the conditions of such to his buyer,

Within his competent capacity and bitterness of consent.

At the end of the day, the human will not want the life of a human.

His sale continues to follow into another sale in preparation of his future to be sold, 

Yet another conniving disarray of his fated condemnation.

One day the human actor won’t even know that he is no longer human, 

He becomes an artificial object of objectifications,

Owning lies and distorted perceptions.

A burgeoning economy of humans bought over.

-Vander

Disclaimer: All poetry and fiction here are original material written by Vander. Please note that all text references, descriptions and indications are purely fictional (make-believe if you didn’t know what fiction is!) and is in no relation to any actual entities.