Poetry reading

Sacred

Frozen,
the sound of footsteps
on polished floors
their only hymns,
the gods slumber.

Banished
to an earthbound kingdom,
enthralling men
with their ebbing powers

Glass panes
their only priests,
tiny pinpricks
their only light,
when once men
shed blood to pour at their feet,
when once heaven
bathed them in celestial, infinite fire.

The gods weep.

Asian Civilisations Museum
Empress Place, Singapore
3 July 2005

something about museums squeezes poems out of me. more so the asian civilisations museum, especially after the disappointment that was the singapore art museum, which i visited last march.

it was one of my more memorable dates with marlon. we brought sketch pads, pencils and pastels, and lingered for hours. i produced several poems in the southeast asian gallery, this being the most coherent one. i was also in an american gods kind of mood, seeing all these awesome beings reduced to tourist spectacle.

at left is a photo i took of a vietnamese figure at the museum. i was up till 5am toying with my newly installed photoshop cs, poring over the tutorials and producing this faintly discernible woodcut thingy. yes, 5am. such is the life of the unemployed... er, freelancer. ;)