Hidden behind the Botox and face mask;
A modern taboo, sensitive to ask.
It involves more than figures and numbers;
A trip ride you forget and remember.
Changes and transformation all the way;
Pray to stay at best, nature cannot sway.
More fear than death, aging is a stigma;
Terror on mirror, trauma is drama.
Age is as old as you are, felt or think;
Peeling vanity, live to shine or sink.
The body does not aged and fall the same;
Face is young, energy decline, knee lame.
Wig, dentures, hearing aids, and walking frame;
Aging well is living, no shame in game.
Dr. KH Lim.


The Grim Reaper

At the start of your birth,
He lies await,
He wields a scythe and adds a new name to his list.

He is everywhere at once,
just bidding his time,
just waiting and waiting for his moment to arise.

To many he comes in a flash,
To some they foresee the signs,
But no one wins in a game of seek, while i hide.

We take no matter as we go about our day,
We are creatures of habit,
Not change.

Only when we head to church,
Only in black and white,
We pay our respects to the fallen,
And pray to god he’ll stop the strikes,
Only then do we think maybe,
What if,
Something might be wrong with our lives.

Some try to change for the better,
Some instead change for the worst,
But the wisest know better,
That changing is not us.

Only when we head to church,
In suits of black and white,
We pay our respects to the fallen,
And pray to god he’ll stop the strikes

When we go for Sunday mast,
And cross ourselves of sin,
Do we rarely think we do it, because we’re scared of him.
We drink the sacramental wine,
And we eat the bread of the lord,
Hoping that it’s Jesus,
Who will come to judge us all

Have we been mistaking it?
Have we got it wrong?
The judge of life and death,
Has actually been haunting us all.

He was there at our birth,
With a clock ticking back,
We’ve never had a say,
For our birth,
What more our death.
So i’d say welcome him with open arms,
For the inevitable will come,
When the clock has run out,
You’ll see him in the dark.



Say you love me,
Say you won’t let go –
I’m too dependent on you,
Too attacked, not too light,
I’m heavy baggage, I know;
But you’re the only one whom I trust,
To carry me on your shoulders.
I’m a little child,
I can barely see beyond the lines,
So how would I know what hurts you,
When I’m the hurt all the time?
I know I am but a fool,
There are people who treat you better,
They can give you comfort and everything,
While I can only write letters –
If you go, I will try to understand,
Even I can’t love myself,
So how can I think you can?

Sky Wei


She was innocent and pure

It was her first love

Thought he’ll be the one.




He is a psychopath

Won’t let her go out


Told her sweet lies

But cursed her in heart

He wants nothing but lust

So they did not last


Fondness turned into violent

Love became hate

He is a monster in disguise


Poor little girl

Her first love was a disaster

But she is much stronger now

More careful in love

Won’t fall for second.

Nur Fatihah Mohd Arnawi, Melaka


Rotting crimson cave

once home to your passion

now lies in another’s caress

who possess your devotion

from dawn to dusk

and still lingers on

in your dreams –

my damnation.


But I can’t declare

what drives me

to the devil’s lair, nightly

I lost that freedom

to sing your name

when you slid through

the crack in our the cave.



Anntidote, Puchong, Selangor.


I remember one day someone I’ve met

Told me a story hard to forget

Asked me how well do I sleep at night

And if it’s true that bed bugs bite?

She said :

I spend my night looking at the moon

but sometimes the clouds come way too soon

I spend my night counting stars

but sometimes I count my daylight scars

I would sit the blow of the midnight breeze

but sometimes it’s so cold, I might freeze

I’ve given up on the thought of counting sheeps

I’ve counted millions but still no sleep

I’d sing a love song for the sky

and for myself, a lullaby

To whom you think should I put the blame?

so many nights can’t sleep can’t dream

Could the dream to dream be only a dream

But from sleepless night and dreamless wake

I have finally taught myself to dream and be awake

Farhan Ejat, Sabah


Freedom was a virtue unknown,
Until your vice crossed my path.
That carefree feeling taken for granted,
Vanished when you revealed your wrath.

The bracelet you picked out,
One I’ve proudly shown,
“Only the finest silver”,
The prettiest handcuff I’ve known.

The gemstone on my throat,
A finely fitted necklace,
Almost as perfectly as your fingers,
When they’re often interlaced.

Twenty-four carats and rose gold,
Drawing (and breaking) hearts as it glistens,
If freedom is a virtue now known,
I must be in the world’s richest prison.

Esther Kuok May Yan, Kuala Lumpur