Musing (Dreaming of Singapura in Santa Clara)

The ringing brings forth the voice of love
Interrupting the slumbers of dream and fright
There, affection glides along the slope of time
Sliding down the gradient of truth towards space
Images slip to and fro and through emoting waves
A late night of inspection reveals nothing
Only the beckoning of early morning sours
My spirit soars to circle the plains of innocence
Force, this life settles into the edge of light

Young faces of fear beckon to strongmen
Their bodies fleeing from the punctuation of will
The ministry of security panders to lack
As drunken souls walk the straight line of salvation
Corner, the eye of the silent knowingly glitters
A voice struggles to be heard in the clatter of chatter
Another clatters to the attention of wandering souls
Yet another hangs onto plug-in bliss and blasé
The clueless clings to the defence of identity
Choices made in acquiescence and bad conscience
Troubling, we freeze into compliant comfort
Beings with no past can only step gingerly forward
Prodded by the sharp tip of polished swords
And calibrated lies, branded by the mark of Abel
Whitened, the lonely forgets her stupefaction
Grounded dreamers triumph all too easily
Respect, only one dares to feeling and pride

The thumping of bass calls me back to the origins of reality
Of symmetries turned askew on the back of hyper faith
Shepherds under a blood red sky and pale blue moon
Pray, to turn our backs to a nation flayed and citizens erased