Poetry

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After attending a talk where Kuo Jiang Hong spoke about how she once asked her mother whether her late father, Kuo Pao Kun, was really a Communist.
(Further context for non-Singaporeans: in our country's early years, the government was very militant in purging all traces of communism. Kuo Pao Kun, a playwright who wrote very political plays, was detained for over four years without trial on communist conspiracy charges, among others.)

The flipside of a conviction is an acquittal.
The upside of total despair is my denial.
There can be no downside.
There can be no middle ground
in this memory of home written on bare walls.
One man's life pivots upon a cutting edge
so let's pray the wind doesn't blow.
When innocence falls by the wayside
the flipside of anger is a calm demeanour.
But silence can be a strength, just as
too many words can be troublesome.
Do not trade kisses for hard knocks.
Do not trade your eye for my tooth.
There are nightmares we do not rise from
while too much time has taken flight.
The curbside of a road is where
the wildflowers come to life.
The flipside of a flipside brings us
somewhere else. And we cannot be sure
if we have turned or returned.
In the end there is only my conviction.
Do not doubt me or your father. Just come
warm your frigid hands by the fireside.
The flipside of a prolonged winter is
this incandescent bulb that pretends to be the sun.