mak mariam
by Maslina Arshad
never did i ask her
was she lonely
taking cautious steps
stopping to catch her breath
by the sofa, at the table
in the kitchen
as always
a mug in hand
talking to the cats
wishing them well
telling them off
never did she complain
about the lack of human voices,
those final days
Before
by Leon Wing
Before the rats picked at the blood and flesh on the fragments of her skull dotted all over the rails, before her head got crushed and brain matter splattered all over, and shattered bones, still with some flesh around them, flung everywhere on the rails, before some passengers in the LRT were jerked off their seats when the LRT hit something solid and nearly derailed, before the people waiting to get on screamed and some turned their heads away, before the LRT couldn’t stop from running over her, before she fell off the edge onto the rails below, before she looked out at the buildings beyond, where a little boy would witness from his bedroom window a horrific sight that would traumatise him for days on end, before she trudged up the stairways to the rail platform, before she got up the first landing, before going up the dirty stairs, she slipped and fell, the bottom of her slipper catching onto some rotting piece of fruit someone had spit out because he was duped into buying some old mushy piece of produce, slipping and falling headlong onto the stairs, killing herself.
The Msian Poetic Chronicles will give your poems-and even short shorts (stories) and longs (long short stories)–a home. We can even talk about your poems and short shorts and longs (not the ones you’re wearing, mind. Just the stories behind them). We’ll feature your work online, if we feel they need eyes to see them and lips to read them. Send your work to chiefchronicler@gmail.com.
by Maslina Arshad
never did i ask her
was she lonely
taking cautious steps
stopping to catch her breath
by the sofa, at the table
in the kitchen
as always
a mug in hand
talking to the cats
wishing them well
telling them off
never did she complain
about the lack of human voices,
those final days
Before
by Leon Wing
Before the rats picked at the blood and flesh on the fragments of her skull dotted all over the rails, before her head got crushed and brain matter splattered all over, and shattered bones, still with some flesh around them, flung everywhere on the rails, before some passengers in the LRT were jerked off their seats when the LRT hit something solid and nearly derailed, before the people waiting to get on screamed and some turned their heads away, before the LRT couldn’t stop from running over her, before she fell off the edge onto the rails below, before she looked out at the buildings beyond, where a little boy would witness from his bedroom window a horrific sight that would traumatise him for days on end, before she trudged up the stairways to the rail platform, before she got up the first landing, before going up the dirty stairs, she slipped and fell, the bottom of her slipper catching onto some rotting piece of fruit someone had spit out because he was duped into buying some old mushy piece of produce, slipping and falling headlong onto the stairs, killing herself.
The Msian Poetic Chronicles will give your poems-and even short shorts (stories) and longs (long short stories)–a home. We can even talk about your poems and short shorts and longs (not the ones you’re wearing, mind. Just the stories behind them). We’ll feature your work online, if we feel they need eyes to see them and lips to read them. Send your work to chiefchronicler@gmail.com.
