Corn’s on my steps…
so goldish yellow like the remembered shadows
of a forgotten submarine.

So many seeds…
like soldiers ordered back
from an unwanted battle.

Green horns…
so long and fading,
like the desires of a eunuch’s dream.

No roots though…
just bark of foreign trees beneath.

It’s never…
another time of a forgotten over.

No mother, father…
just the improper spelling
of a dream.

10 thoughts on “Bastard…

  1. Hi Rom, hope you’re in the best of health..

    One thing that I’v learned now, though in the worse, down and torn situation, if we are strong enough to write something nice and enlightening, our feelings will changed…though not totally but at least it calm down and feel good…try it… 🙂
    Have a nice day…it’s bright and sunny here in Kuala Lumpur.. 🙂


    1. Hi Katrina,

      Since you were so kind, I’ll let you know a bit more behind these texts… Most of the ones you see now, are older creations brought over from the original site of their publication, this one being from 2008 I guess, with a bit of twist though in the original title which was “Scorn”, but encripted… You see if you put the s in front of corn in the first line you get scorn instead of corn’s… Nevertheless, these are rather philosophical reflections in existentialism displayed through my own feelings which today were torn a bit by the need to resign from a team where one member’s attitude became unacceptable for my principles’ point of view…
      For the rest, I feel like having let go was the best option because the whole issue poisoned my thoughts…
      So the text reflects subliminally my decision to let the whole situation become something for which I am neither mother nor father, anymore:-)
      Your kindness deeply honours me, and your advice well taken!

      Thank you!


  2. Rom,

    It is difficult to toss aside dreams well held for so long. Keeping to principle in the face of adversity can be a most difficult prospect, yet the option of compromising a moral conviction is more difficult still…and invariably the cause of longer lasting crises than the loss of a cherished ideal. This poem can serve as a proverb, in the most positive sense of that word, especially the final two stanzas. I hope you are not feeling too much pain from the loss of something/someone held dear.



    1. Ron my friend,
      The dream, in an unfinished state, is me…
      What’s left of it, undone, with all hope-like parents lost somewhere in between repeated rapes… all by those I’ve entrusted my aging hopes on…
      And you know, when one cannot but stutter his/her dream-self, when its pure sillable by sillable spelling cannot reach his/her own ears, a long dreaded bastardness starts creeping the last remains of what it once was…

      That’s when “corn’s” means actually “scorn”…



    1. Thank you, and yes I agree. Another dear poet said that my humour has a “deviant” aspect and I cannot but agree.
      Life’s just such…
      Be always welcome…:-)


Please Leave a Reply 👣

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s