for old time's sake
this patience grew
with each piece
that came out of ground
from silver morn to scarlet dusk
we scratched through dust
the only time when the hours
were measured by bits and
pieces of things
that had soaked up
the glare of a million suns
anxieties and hopes
that came in bits and pieces
our laughter that too
sounded irregular
as the ancient stamp of history
we ploughed through every inch
of land to to make something
wholesome from breakages
piece by piece, irregular as
odd numbers three, five, seven
so many unavailable pieces that
leave holes in the heart
each founded piece
a seal of the past
for the present
the distance
measured in
bits and pieces

inspired by

Camma
AS one who poring on a Grecian urn
Scans the fair shapes some Attic hand hath made,
God with slim goddess, goodly man with maid,
And for their beauty's sake is loth to turn
And face the obvious day, must I not yearn
For many a secret moon of indolent bliss,
When in the midmost shrine of Artemis
I see thee standing, antique-limbed, and stern?
And yet-methinks I'd rather see thee play
That serpent of old Nile, whose witchery
Made Emperors drunken, -come, great Egypt, shake
Our stage with all thy mimic pageants! Nay,
I am grown sick of unreal passions, make
The world thine Actium, me thine Antony!
Oscar Wilde

john tiong chunghoo

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/camma-2/