Concert

dedicated to my recently departed paternal grandmother
whom i never really got down to spending more time with.
but alas, regrets- there will always be.

she sleeps.
in her bed adorned
with flowers and watered with tears

that threaten the maquillage of clowns
dressed in smoke-soaked mourning garbs
tickled with sandalwood bits

which drift to the ground silently
as opposed to the pongs and kongs of mahjong tiles
like elephants walking on stilts

or the rambunctious crowd that loves nothing but a good show
who looks more foward to the green tea packets
et peanuts littered on white paper plates.

the procession is a sold-out concert
a magnificent mastery of humour
where the people could break into

fierce arias about fillial piety
as they walk through the roman motions
and then culminate in naughty bathos.

the pyrotechnics are spectacular
but the music cacophony
and the grief a misnomer.


i wonder how she sleeps with all that cheesy dialogue,
cut-throat histrionics and the atrocious orchestra.


cuRRent...jer  ¶ 1:43 am