The Clothesline Poem by john tiong chunghoo

talking about incisive mind;
my life's laid bare
on my clothesline
right under the sun
if noosy neighbour
really knows where to read it.
our laughters and moods
trail with the frills, shades
pastels, chiffons
a myriad shapely wear
that dance in the morning breeze;
a party in the open.
the butterflies and bees
lose out to their allure;
a cartoonist's inner world
at work as we figure
all the characters
in the wear
trooping through
the avenue with their
infectious laughters.
in the dawn of a new season
how the shapes have changed,
and the colours
fly away like autumn.
the dull colours!
the dull colours!
how they invade my
clothesline, my life.
the falling leaves!
the falling crown!
how everything start
giving up on each other
split, broken, trail
with the wind!
the void! the void!
Right in this warm
blooded creature!
So cold the days
finally become...
my clothesline,
the delicate theatre
of my life
that trails with the wind
day in and day out.
if only the noosy neighbour
know where to read
all my secrets;
they dance in the winds...
each morning....
when the sun is bright
and the wind blowing....
this morning i watch
with witheld tears alone
knowing full well
some shirts will
never return to the line.