echo From our creative writers, Natasha Effendy, Shay Azman and Joey Yap
Getaway
By Natasha Effendy
hello? can you hear me?
i’ve been meaning to say something
even if the signal’s not pretty.
i don’t think i can do this anymore.
i’ve grown tired of the city
where my screams tend to evade me,
my confessional streams
poured all over the polished floors
until i ran out of dreams-
i need a getaway across the seas;
somewhere deep in the country
where i can still feel a breeze;
a breath of dying somewhere pretty
as if i carelessly ripped out a page
out of my half-written biography
that takes up too much of my head
until they all cooperate to collaborate
into my nameless anthology
but how can i craft such a thing
when i’m not even dead?
i’ve stood with a foot
dipped in the cold waters
of too many premature lakes,
simply infested with the glossy surface
that was supposed to make it okay
if only i swam upwards; limbs outwards
at the sky and its starry, lovely gaze,
drenched in the drowning sensations
of being underwhelmed; underwater
while i choose to be frozen;
preserved in the winter
that anticipates a flowering spring-
lead me to the forests, show me.
let me listen to the trees.
i want to be gently cradled
by the branches that beckon me
to come closer; to kneel down
before the foundation of the bark
that encircles me with its roots
that presents me with a pond
to shed my tears upon
but i find no comfort
in what remains the same.
i run away in the midst of the
rising tides and callous landslides,
mummified by the thought of
my immortality, perpetuated
in the rock-hard mountains
where my ashes might lay
and where the nightmares stay,
reciprocated by the two sides
of my imbalanced brain-
i still struggle to fathom
the chipped reality i live in,
taunted by epiphanies
that break apart sunrises,
drenching us in the night-times
of a standstill sunset,
shrouding us in darkness.
i am reminded once again,
the relation between my fears,
and how they’ve been tailored,
gifts against my nature.
hello? can you hear me?
i don’t think i can do this anymore.
can you please take me home?
Cries of Solitude
By Shay Azman
Lilac stains on your cursive written letters,
dripping sand amongst the countless grains that rest within the hourglass,
window panes cursed with streams of rain splatter,
nostalgia from the days in the wind and the smell of the grass.
take me back to when we first exchanged names,
oh how i would have cherished it more had i known it wouldn’t last,
spare me the heartache, tearful nights and dreams of delightful frames,
I’d repent for my sins, ones yet to be made and ones made in the past.
i stand before a painted copy of us,
one much bigger than you or i,
it hangs on the walls of our fortress,
tells our tale in perspectives of the sky,
our portrait paints a life so faultless,
none could afford to turn a blind eye.
paint strokes had complimented our complexion,
passive colours had shadowed our strange distance,
hateful echoes from our chambers unclasp our true reflection,
architectured attraction had turned into fatal resistance.
i stay awake lying on a bed far too big for one,
i await your promised return,
i keep your secrets hidden from the sun,
As I know too well of how it burns.
They stay awake watching me sleeping sound,
Those amongst me await your promised return,
They do not know you cannot be found,
How could you when i have kept you hidden,
Along with our secrets,
Away from the sun.
And That’s Okay
By Joey Yap
When I was five,
I wanted a set of watercolours,
But I got new colour pencils,
And that’s okay.
When I was ten,
I wanted a pet dog,
But I got a plushie instead,
And that’s okay.
When I was fifteen,
I wanted a pair of heels,
But I got a pair of sneakers,
And that’s okay.
When I was twenty,
I wanted new earrings,
But I got a necklace with a key charm,
And that’s okay.
What I originally wanted,
I did not get,
But I used what I got instead,
And that’s okay.
