Subconscious sea

I close my eyes to take a sigh and dive into the minds of people,
to swim in the tangles of a deep dark ocean;
to close my eyes and float deep down
into all caves and corners of our souls,
to touch a sleeping monster and to stay awhile
watching the frantic ones banging their cage doors,
to leave a seaweed by their doors;
and to the depths from where the jellyfish come,
lighting up the scars, drawing up the contours of a world beyond,
I dive into further beyond to find a child curled up
in a hiccup, shivering on the ocean floor
and there I was amongst the wreckage of brave sailors and explorers
reaching out my hand to a child;
but alas, I open my eyes and all things fade into light,
and there she was before me standing in a smile
with magic miracles in her eyes
for me to give her a last kiss on her head
before I leave for the heavens to my death.

Neal Ym (Phalguni Y)
April 5, 2017

A kind of love

I hate my writings.
I hate myself.
It is the purest hate,
pure like the morning sun, and
fresh like a bleeding cut
drawn at the wrist —
a cheap Topaz blade for blood.
It is the purest hate,
the love of the Devil.
A love still, nonetheless.

— Caliban sees himself in a writing.

Neal Ym (Phalguni Y)
November 7, 2016