Winsy Tink Poems

Words that were never meant to be said
Or by the skeptical eye be read
Stole through my lips
Trickling through my fingertips
...

If waking is no escape from terrible dreams,
nor sleeping relief from my waking hours -
If my senses confuse conception with reality
(Or has reality always been a pure product of the mind?) -
...

Gently as the murmuring stream
Trickles through pebbled valleys in search of ambitious seas -
...

There is a leakage in my lungs
Caused by a splinter invisible to the eye
The atmospheric pressure chokes my breath
It sucks away my vigour, my elixir
...

[This was written a week after I returned home after spending the past five years in UK. I was already missing London, where I had done university, and home was not really home in the sense of fitting in and feeling comfortable, because it had changed so much I didn't know this place called 'home' anymore.]

You ask me
Why my face has become so –
...

It began
a never-ending story;
It finished
a never-ending one -
...

Swingin’ gently,
drink the warm summer breeze
...

Unplug this bright secret of mine
From the depths of my chest
Dig it up and wrap it safe
To stop the radiation escaping
...

What does one do on New Year’s Eve? What is the cause for celebration on New Year’s Eve at all? I suppose New Year’s Eve is different from the other 364 days of the year, because on this day of champagne and confetti and cheers of rejoice, I feel a heightened sense of what has been lying under the surface on all those other days. Oh yes, that old friend called – Loneliness.

For a long while, I have misunderstood my loneliness as a preference for solitude. It took me a few years to realize that the weight dragging me down stemmed from a desire for self-effacement rather than an eccentric pride. I brought it upon myself. I decline invitations to big parties, gatherings with old school friends, and rendevous with new acquaintances. I had the chance not to be lonely, but I chose otherwise.
...

[A silly girl's first romance.]

The sun-blessed lawn grown of daisies and ferns,
Our footprints on the grass;
...