A poem that was born in the midst of contemplation, as lights went out in a room.

What if someone,

Switched off all the lights,

And plunged us,

Into the dark,


In shadows no longer existent,

A dozen pirouettes,

The waltz behind a hymn,

Worries that plagued us,

Now light as a feather.



Matchstick figurines,

Under a sleeping sun,


Dancing in the candlelight,


Always watching,

My trembling shoulders,

A storm stirring,


Cold, sweet kiss,

Of a crisp dagger,

The tempest within,

Might spill over.



Seventeen zero six,

Numbers on a clock,

Letters on pages,

Envelopes from the future,

Faces sketched,

On mirrors, hanging,

Moving screams of an inner-child.



Fame and fortune,

Neither too important,

Handcrafted art,

Free to shout and sing,

Drawing circles in the wind,

One caveat,

The artist remains,

A face in the crowd,

A layman on the street.



Words I wish to shout,

Songs I wish I’d heard,

To dance in the light,

Whilst working,

Ever so quietly,

Clawing away in the shadows.


MARK: I am many things. I am 23 years old. I am Mark Ooi. After crossing paths with Edgar Allen Poe’s The Raven, I am also a poet, a scribe of the voices in my head ─ inspired and captivated by this world we share, the things I see, the thoughts I feel, and the emotions I contemplate.


To kick-off the count-down, and to give our readers a treat –

MUMBLED WORDS ON A PAGE, a poem by Mark Ooi.. You may seen this poem in ISSUE 3: THE PEOPLE WE MAKE, accompanied with photography by Ong Mui Jin & editing + graphics by Athena Tan

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

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

Google photo

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

Twitter picture

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

Facebook photo

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

Connecting to %s