the kaleidoscope.

the kaleidoscope

I picked up the kaleidoscope.

Dusty.

Blew the dust off.

The kaleidoscope is a connector

between me and my childhood.

I let my grown-up fingers touch the yellow tube.

half-expecting the old times to come flooding back.

Slowly, catiously, heart-pounding-ly,

I peer through the looking glass.

Red. Yellow. Green. Blue. Pink. Purple.

All these colours have faded. Like the sounds of my

childish days, they have faded.

All I see is black. grey. decay. destruction.

I shake it.

black grey decay destruction.

I shake it harder.

black gray decay destruction.

i shake it like a baby his empty milk bottle.

but still it shows only black gray decay destruction

the kaleidoscope fades out of my hand.

no more. no more. the scope is no more.

no more. no more.

-desmond ng 7.48pm