“More than Dreams” by Esmond Ng © copyright 13/07/05

For Bubu,

“More than Dreams” by Esmond Ng © copyright 13/07/05
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Dreams be to most snapping back into reality,
That with each dawning bright, ideas of wish fade into dark.
My mind often hear things with sensitivity,
So obscure it may seem like such idle dreams.

Do I really pick up any of Thy subtlety?
Hidden in simple art of word pictures see?
Or it be just plain foolishness on me,
To hold on these sands of Time; slipping through open fingers quickly.

Still stubbornness and wishfully tight I hold my grip,
Not wanting go my own fantasy dream.
Till this day feel that God would have kinder to me,
No goodbyes; that His grace could have shown through your sweet company.

“I can only dream” what Thee makes of it,
More than dreams I still pray that Thee revert decisions please.
For I know I’d treasure this silly love theme,
Even though it may just be another of my dawning dreams.

“The 166” by Esmond Ng © copyright 09/07/05

For Bubu,

“The 166” by Esmond Ng © copyright 09/07/05
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It’s all at variance; the feeling now after ye move.
166 a place dear now seems so at ease.
Leisurely seated on the blue-tiled stool as writing these,
For depart’d fear of chance you’d see my doing this.

Not ever hoped I that I may glimpse of Thee,
Nor ever dreamt that my sight would cross with Thee’s.
But solace seeking and relish that I stay here,
Near my very own yellow-signed love story.

Even though Thou’s shadow has shifted expectedly,
More of a memory, a picture frame in mind it hath left me.
Yes, it may look silly or crazy some have deem’d.
To this special place frequent I still constantly.

The taint’d white cat cuddles up next to me,
As if it knows me, of my solitary misery.
Occasionally it steals glances; those that pierce right through the soul,
It be like saying: “Easy, I feel for you for I the same fate be.”

Still my thoughts would often play cruel tricks on me.
Thinking how nice it would be if all can restart from time on bridge.
For then, it would still feel like an eternity;
An eternity so perfect in fairy dreams.

How heart-wrenching that sound of bus should pull alongside me,
Snapping me out of my own world; this world of poetic release.
So as light breeze this night ends this week abruptly,
My leaving likened to Enya’s “Deora Ar Mo Chroi”;
“Tears Of My Heart” it sings indeed.