By Emmy Kwan
it was cold.
puddles of dripping water
clanking honks in dense traffic
mornings could not be any more dreary
as December crept near.
a brown scarf, a shiver under coats
a bitter smile and warm eyes
people passing by
red shoes clink against hard pavement
soaked in monsoon rain
darkness loomed and the only light of day
was signalled by cackling thunder and hidden sunrays.
sunglasses perched on her nose, slanted eyes under the hood.
red, bold with light spilling along the traces of her lips.
she never smiled.
but she did dream (we all do).
behind the cold, cold smile
she dreamt of lavender fields and sweet honey scent
of the little bee down the aisle that beckoned her and went
glistening and shining
as if a mellow dream
she followed him until they reached a soft rushing stream
he crossed because he was light and weightless
and she couldn’t because she was heavy laden and bare footed
she watched him disappear, a buzz of yellow and black
waltzing into the thick bush of misty lusciousness, never turning back.
and it is that pain that lies deep in her bones to this day
the pain and the longing to reach across the terrain
to one day cross the soft rushing stream
and to whisper to the gentle hushing wings of a bee.
that she hated the frosty city and the frivolous silhouettes
that she hated the files and frowns she daily met
that all she wanted was a small blossom of warmth
in a lavender sweet field filled with summer humid storms
and an oozing sun to bathe her soul in
to feel the warmth of a human heart
she never could be quite within distance with.
Emmy Kwan is a regular nineteen year old literature nerd from Singapore. She writes mostly poems, but also short stories, and about anything and everything, from societal disparity issues like gender inequality to mundane local life. In addition to writing, Emmy does traditional and digital art, and aims to open a sticker shop (which you could visit on Instagram @kwantalogue 😉)
Image: @rmathon via Unsplash