The Toil is Plenty but The Labourers are Scarce

Photo credit: The Princess Saves Herself In This One


Untold dawns, uncounted nights,

Unceasing ostinato of early-start-late-finish,

“It is legal,” he claims,

The toil is plenty but the labourers are scarce.


Sporadic day offs, stolen furloughs,

Startling constitutional bare bones,

“It is legal,” she insist,

The toil is plenty but the labourers are scarce.


Brimming roster,

Bursting 28 days,

“It is legal,” they exclaim,

The toil is plenty but the labourers are scarce.


Maximum duty function,

Misemployed FDP extensions,

“It is legal,” he pleads,

The toil is plenty but the labourers are scarce.


Insufficient standby crew,

Innocent embers engender Chernobyl,

“It is legal,” she maintain,

The toil is plenty but the labourers are scarce.


RDOs’ an empty gimmick- forlorn,

Red and scarlet tint the AL bidding,

“It is legal,” they reply,

The toil is plenty but the labourers are scarce.

“Minute manpower lacking is no matter,” he informed,

“For day off call-ups we possess,” he implies;

“Survivable or the goal?” I asked.

“Do we contend with this reduced number?” I probe.

My questions are stonewalled.

“It is legal,” he snobs.

The toil is plenty but the labourers are scarce.


Lift: Daughter of Zeus

Born of the heavens,
Princess of the azure,
Jupiter’s heredity;

Crafted by updrafts,
Nursed by jet streams,
Gravity’s adversary;

Resides with contrails,
Wrestled with typhoons,
Celestial’s confidant;

Kissed thunderstorms,
Seduced cumulus nimbuses,
Aeronautic’s partisan;

C⌊ × 1/2 ρv²A


Embedded in the perfect symphony of flight.



I Farted On Your Balls

I farted on your balls,

Waltz into the hall,

You salivate over my braid,

And hence began the raid.


Tear the baby-tee off my back,

Run your lips along my neck,

Your touch cognate electricity,

Acutely test my capacity.


Any lingering virtue is severely taint,

Our neighbors lodge a noise complain,

As I’m bent over our kitchen sink,

Sweeping oxytocin race pass brink.


Deluge desire is bubbling,

Yet I can’t focus on the pounding,

Nor the tingling between my thighs,

For I only wanna look in your eyes.


We stumble to the shower,

Under the pouring water,

Slow dance to Ed Sheeran’s “Perfect”,

Love is our central dialect.


Adjourn to the Ramen shop,

For a Tonkotsu on the hop,

Then purchase two movie tix,

Smuggle Tealive into the mix.


At home we lay our head to rest,

Follow your drum solo on my ass,

In lieu we gossip past twilight,

-Oblivious to the dusky night.


My feelings get stronger every day,

I’m like a little girl, not in a role-playing way,

When you lean over and grab my hand,

I’m thankful to call you my man.


I promptly reminiscence the how-

My wishful prayer became a vow,

The good, the bad, the fats,

My all I lay for bets.


One year marched like a beating heart,

Still I maintain, till death do us part,

Be assured that in spite the pall,

I will always fart on your balls.


The Perpetual Time Loop

Picture credit:

Trapped in a time warp,

Fatigue on repeat.

Living for off days,

Survival an onerous feat;


Vetoed RDOs,

Let attestation be,

That demand surpass supply,

A set-up bent on knees.


Call-ups a staple,

Operation on goodwill;

Stability a foreign concept,

Chaos morphs to peril.


Myopic efforts,

Retimes and delays.

Rammed under the wire,

Shambles never pays.

Picture credit:

Red Lingerie

I twirl the strap of my lacy red lingerie around my wrist,

It’s twin, I wrap around the capri of my man.

“Let this be the red string of fate…”

Image credit:

… that link two destined lovers.

The ineluctable heed no time, place nor circumstance;

It’s robusity conquers rain, shine, and ghastly storms.


Tattered but not torn,

Worn yet intact,

Knotted yet unbroken.


But is fate not a construct of human ingenuity?

A figment of desire, rationalisation of passion?

Still, fate is so apparent, so palpable, so definite.


I don my “string”.

And brush my lips along his broad, broad shoulders.

Fate, so. Tangible.

P.S: Choice of apparatus due lack of a physical red string

P.P.S: Events took place with the subject of my affection “on the throne”

P.P.P.S: Happy birthday, baby *insert heart emoji*

Some Days

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Some days…

Sanction my passive narration,

Spare me the anguish of active participation.

Watch my introvert self stomp mercilessly over my seemingly extrovert front.


And some days…

My fight drains out and determination shimmers and thaw,

I clutch my confidence like a drowning man for a straw.

I’m in relentless pursuit for self-redemption, if only I could muster the courage.


Then some days…

Every move is reduced to a chore,

The cup is half empty and a total bore.

I trot around in zombie-mode, and binge on sugar like a zombie on brains.


But some days…

I haggle with self-doubt, tame my chaos,

Bark my resolve into submission, and manhandle my grit.

I whip self-loathing into a sorry pulp with heavy, gasping breaths.



The sun always rises in the morning,

Light peeks at the end of every tunnel,

And even Noah’s ark eventually settled on solid ground.



The journey garnish its destination,

A view is valued at a thousand climbs.

And gulp a big dose of imperative fuel- your dignity, self-respect and worth.


When I Was…

With papa and mama on my graduation day.


Dear Papa,


When I was seven,

You told me about hell and heaven;

Jesus is the way, the truth, and the light,

By His blood, we are saved day and night.


When I was ten,

Untasty food launch me into a rant;

You taught me to eat everything on the table,

Because this reflect that our character is stable.


When I was eleven,

Popo passed around a quarter to seven;

You said: “For every situation, in the Lord- rejoice”,

“Even if it doesn’t make sense, again I say, rejoice”.


When I was thirteen,

I asked: “What if mama is fat and not lean?”;

You lowered your newspaper and illustrated true love,

By saying: “Then there is more for me to love”.


When I was fourteen,

You showed me hard work and discipline;

Determination is all we need,

Deligence brings us up to speed.


When I was sixteen,

Add maths just wasn’t my scene;

You explained X, Y, and functions,

Till the subject was no more my dysfunction.


When I was eighteen,

Cadetship was all I’m keen;

You drove, drilled and prepared me,

The reason today I fly with glee.


When I was twenty-five,

You never cease in your plight to thrive;

Piano, taekwando, theology,

Achievements are definitely part of your biology.


Today, I am twenty-seven,

Still my inspiration and motivation;

Your teachings keep me safe at bay,

I love you papa, Happy Father’s Day!

You Turn My Skies to CAVOK


Shakespeare likened his lover to a summer’s day,
But I allegorise you-
To the cool breeze agin the warm Malaysian rays.

Your embrace balm my pain,
Your shoulders-
Cheer my ailing heart fain.

Entice me,
Ardour me,
Relish me,
Affirm me.

I reiterate my sentiment,
You turn my skies to CAVOK.

I Was Late For Work Today

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I was late for work today,

Spotted the standstill a mile away;

Brake lights flashing, horns were blaring,

I blast my radio to drown the jarring.


I was late for work today,

Waze says expect delay;

Left my home at five past eleven,

For a twelve-forty sign on, that’s abundant.


I was late for work today,

T’was a jam on Elite Highway;

3 lanes merge into 2, then one,

Those orange cones just ain’t fun.


I was late for work today,

KL traffic heeds no night nor day;

Some genius deem midnight the hour for road works,

From Hicom to Saujana, even a Jaguar acquire no perks.


I was late for work today,

Perhaps I should just proceed to bay;

7 years a pilot, always punctual and never tardy,

A streak tainted by an hour long crawl, just plain foolhardy.


Midnight is peak travel time,

That’s when Malaysians hit our prime;

If you must, 3-5am is when we hibernate,

I was late for work today.