Jey Min (SOTA)


I write when I gain inspiration. I aspire to be a published poet someday.

Published Work

The Deep Night's Silence

Picture this:
mountain-ringed scenery
and a deep blue ceiling
hiding its endless ex-
panse behind a green screen.
Romanticism’s wild
flowers blooming against
the biting
In this picture I am
utterly and complete-
ly blown away by its
beauty; a stillness that

(But if I dig-
if i dig deeper
I will find your
world’s decay, hidden
deep under the
surface on which I lie;
this I fear is reali-

Though I have looked upon
a Neo-Classicist pain-
ter’s battlefield wrecked with
emotion, an irony
that lingers but does not
humour its sad state
nor its poor, bleak fate.

Picture this:
perhaps I can escape
Fate’s elevated eye.
Hide behind the rocks
and wait for Time to sigh.

The Precarious Edge of Adventure

You’ve never been heavier.
With each pause comes a faster descent,
every word screaming sever, sever
But I’ve never
felt anything as splitting as this,
again I fear I have
given every warning a miss.
Yet, my mind loses grip of every clever
twist and turn of this body
(that is not mine)
If only it was kinder in its violent trappings.
I wish to not expect the expected,
yet in my eyes the future is laid out before me as
a map of some fantasy land
that I wish I did not recognize.
This is a crossroads that I have trodden
many times before,
I know
it will take me
I’ve never been to before.

Nights on Earth

Nights on Earth bring forth:
the silent streetlights
storming the slanted ground with their
blinding luminance.

Nights on Earth bring forth:
the faraway stars
burning slowly a few million years away
the only things I can see looking up through the window,
(trees rushing)
age brushing against my childish mind.

This Night on Earth,
I am watching the stars,
just a few years older the last they shone
thinking lost friends are like shooting stars:
they are as heavy as a desperate wish
and are worth a stray glance there, then back.
Eyes raised heavenward,
(All silent)
a blink, a flicker and the wish slips through time,
like running sand in a cosmic hourglass.


Draft slips through an empty mind,
its silent solitude a burden without weight.
What will you do when the whispers in the night rise
in their ghostly, transient voices?
When they coalesce into a heavy cascade
and turn into yells, shouts then screams?
I could feel the world turning inside my mind,
day turning and then arriving
night falling and then fading.
It cycles: like living in the moment
then feeling the burden of knowledge, pressing
its claws deep into my shoulders.
When the mind is empty and the world is heavy,
silence will break into bitter gall and the
floodgate of the night will open,
its horrors cascading all over the moonlit walls.


With each footfall the sound writs itself onto my soles,
shattering into shards that jump and echo, embedding
their history into my mind, their fractured light
quiet in their silence but violent in radiant, blinding
Their sound, when played, is wrenching and lined with sharp edges
and fading lines, charcoal pressed across a darkening sky.
Their sound, when played, is a gentle lull or violent waves
crashing, coasting from the Sun to my mind: physical null
Their sound, when played, mirrors the wind and the evening sky,
back when the waters were still against my mind’s hull
(everything spins out of control, a paradise lost)
Only the elegance of craft  can colour the pain in
all its ugly wonder: how time folds upon itself and never stops.

Ruthless Subtlety

Here, the knife of subtlety tears ruthlessly
just like the way you have shown me,
the disguised hostility hanging heavy in the feather-light air.
But the silent can’t speak
and the blind can’t see.
The silence in the air is only a smokescreen,
the harsh reality waiting,
to catch the wary off-guard
start to slowly suffocate with the smoke of fire
and pull them down into a chaotic delirium,
drowning until the fabric between dreams and reality
is torn:
the knife of awareness breaking through.

Mountains in a distance

There is something about the music,
The way it worms through the head
the way it makes shapes dance behind my eyelids.
How your voice intertwines with the radio's
static-laced dream, 
the road so much more open,
your smile so much wider.
Though I know that after the light
there will be dark.
(But after the dark fades)
comes the vivid colours of a new beginning
(tinting the sky a rising blue and orange)
After dark comes another day under the burning starlight
(of the sun)
and we’ll be back here,
running away from the past,
singing along to the melody of wanderlust.

The tracks I leave as I run free

I yell into the canyon of wanderlust,
my voice is the sole carrier of the life rushing through my veins.
I breathe, and the wind breathes with me.
I exhale, and the rushing air running by my side
sweeps me clean of darkness.
Never have I felt so present,
so alive,
so bright against a tapestry of stars.
If I could capture forever within a moment,
this is one that I would live
and over

(as the dawn comes
my heart burns brighter than the sun)



Now the train is moving,
a banshee until it meets daylight.
Nothing is lost between the cracks of pain,
everything that is lost is caught in sight.
Yes, the monster of the past I have slain,
Yet I am haunted by the future.

here: where the metal meets sunlight
you glow, my ray of sunshine.
My only real friend,
My only vivid bloom.
Stay here with me
in this landscape of solitude.

Now I am changing.
In darkness until  I light my own flame:
Nothing is lost in between the darkness
and your presence,
everything that is lost
is lost.
Yes, closer I have tugged myself,
closer to the bright sun rays of happiness
Present in the solitude of wanderlust.

(i could stay here forever)

The Nebula's Bloom

Strangers part a little ways.
Strangers they are, and strangers they will stay.

They met a day apart.
Her heart was hanging out to dry,
aimless. Her hands no longer clasped to pray.
He said: I'd no intention to pry.
Strangers we are and strangers we shall stay.

And so it fell apart in his hands,
Desert it was for miles, desert it was
until an oasis appeared out of the sands.
He said, I'd no intention to drink, no intention to nurse my body back to health.
For I’d rather turn a blind eye to my Self.

Her hands bled as she held herself together.
Blood and salt, blood and sweat
They interlace in a cocktail of madness. But no matter.
She said: I'd met and loved, met and lost
Now I will give my all,
I will pay the due cost.
But time and time again, things change and
I will change with the autumn winds.
Regardless of...

24 Hours

With the eyes of the sunlight roaming the earth
And the hooves of time galloping faster and faster
I feel that I am going to fall off,
I feel like I am losing control
With the moon chasing the sun into the horizon
in an eternal dance, a chasing of the light.
Night is but an ethereal reflection of day
With the moonlight dancing on the rivers,
bending, refracting
though its light is but borrowed from a greater brilliance.
The whispers of the willows are amplified through the night,
their crying, their sadness dripping into the river
that flows from the great giants beyond:
I have scaled them,
Climbed to the top
just to crawl back down,
the air too thin,
Just like a wild rushing of happiness through my veins.
Then sunrise comes, chasing the moon into obscurity once more.
It shines its brilliance on the slanted grass extending from the earth,
Brings light to the prairie fields,


We can stand on the train with a
banshee outside its doors,
we can talk softly
under our breaths.
We can talk about Fibonacci numbers
and how it can be used for our next art assignment
You can tell me about bad friends
and we will feel as if we have stumbled upon
a new constitution of being.

But there is chatter all around us,
lashing down onto the hard ground.
The movement of the lips is all I can hear;
I’ll have to shout to listen.

We can talk about things
while I shape your words
into something of brilliance in my head.
I will then talk about how
Fibonacci numbers recur in nature;
how Gaia is alive

But we are on a boat that is moving fast,
its wake: waves that crest behind
And I am afraid that if the words
stop flowing from our mouths
the trailing waves will catch up
and swallow us whole.


Meaningless Levity

The second passes and
the beat draws long.
I give in to the gravity
of meaningless levity:
I curve my lips
and smile.

(for you reached out and brought
the scattered notes and chords
into a melody.)


The last breaths of spring seep away, leaving
the wild wind in its wake.

In the darkness alone,
I see
the galaxy lying dormant
and the strings of stars winking
back at me.

The blinding rays of day bring forth
a distance that stretches far;
the melody of the sloping hills
rising slowly
with the wind
as its orchestra,

the violin as the stray, slanting sunlight,
the piano; the grass beneath
with my ascend as its player.

and so my fingers waltz over the keys:
Each thumping footstep creates its melody,
melds each movement;
the snow and its imprint,
the summit and its descent.

In a distance:
light glints off
the deep emerald lakes,
each flash the beat
of the drumming of the heart
caged in the chest.

Music is a wild thing
that longs to be unleashed,
to run free through
the landscape of reality.
But it is caged within imagination.
Yet the rushing of the
unfamiliar air

My Unbroken Head

Swirling in this cloudy glass bottle
I see:
The last dregs of love, a few drop’s worth.
They had left none for me and had
taken it all for themselves.
But they are mere drunk fools;
One morning they will wake up with
a migraine stuck in their head
and a broken heart beating their chests.
One day I will watch them being felled by the wine of love,
and I will laugh.

What is a lover but a fleeting night or day?
What is a lover but the only thing that can twist your heart so terribly
you can feel it bleed inside?
What is a lover but a monster that will seal you inside your shell,
leaving you to grieve for what was?
Rhetoric, a few hour’s worth
fleets by
in my unbroken head.
Yes, love
is a killer that you welcome into your home.

Yet, I pick up the bottle, swirl its contents.
Yes, I
tip it...

Parallel/Perpetual Motion

I lie awake at night thinking of the things
that are going to be.
The darkness within has exhausted
and hesitant steadiness all that lasted

So paralyzed in the face of fear
Fragile mortality wavers;
but every second that the monster crawls closer
my persistent resolve hardens.
Fear not in the face of death;
for all shall return to the Earth.
To dust, to soil, to dirt.
If you wish for the light to illuminate;
Stand not in the way of illumination.
For there is only Fear to fear itself;
not mortality or loss in the face of calamity.
To heal is to feel the bitter, burning salve.
To run; to be free.
To live is to forget about the self before.
But I have emerged from my cocoon
and I can spread my wings and take flight.
One day I shall return to the earth but
today I will stay suspended.
The end of my road is nowhere in...

Final Destination

What is life but a train with no destination?
With each jerking stop figures alight.
Some whisper no goodbye as they fade.
Some jump out, their faces turned away,
destroyed by harsh brushstrokes of anguish and pain.
Some hold on as they are pulled from my grasp.
Their warmth seeps into my bones
but soon the cold sets in. They are always gone too soon.

One by one,
they trickle out of the shut doors
Flowing fast into the endless night.
Silence is cleaved apart by the screeching of the rails,
my never-ending blight.
It brings me towards/through my predestined path,
the ceaseless drone of compliance.
I dared not alight, I dared not walk my path alone.
Anger is what burns in my chest as the train runs, full speed
towards my Final Destination,
the end of my road.

But I am neither invisible nor invincible.
That is the fate of mortality,
And change is as simple as the breaking...

presently the future arrives

Here in the dark, there’s so much I can’t see.
But I know enough.
Each bush, each knee-deep stream
Here I make my way around to the far unknown,
Eyes on fire, hands on fire-
Heart on fire.

I stalk (quietly) through the epileptic night.
Each raven flutters shutters their way out
Through neon memories and happy memories
The night kisses the crowns of our heads goodnight
She never closes my eyes, only opens the flood gate to my mind.
Lover, serenade me to sleep with the lullaby.

I had a thought of leaving,
Fluttering the shutters on my way out.
I will see through opaque bodies and foretell their sins,
Count them down with my fingers
and watch them draw their knives.

I will open my eyes to anyone but myself.
And once I have reached land’s end,
I would do anything to turn back the hands of the shattered clock,
Draw the bullet back into the chamber,


I am back in my body again,
Still, undistrupted waters within tired flesh
Kept stagnant in light of the forthcoming darkness.
There is no mesh between still hands
and unknown faces,
but still,
I stay within.

We are back here on hallowed ground,
Each word unspoken,
though there is no need to breathe them.
We watch the silver and darkness of the in-between
of dusk and midnight
As light of our people not born
Kisses the close of our eyelids.

This One Moment

Shades of monochrome bring the imagination back
to something that might have been:
Wishful dreaming.
Summer passes by through a stranger’s eyes
a line in every chaotic dance between
the spilling of emotion from my mouth to withdrawal.
I am on the beach with you, next,
Kilometres and sentences apart,
where every unspoken word escapes through a crack in the facade of
humanly possession
Eyes, ears, mouth in a slow growing tandem of an imagined fantasy.

Death is fleeting

I remember people standing.
shoes polished, donned grey
eyes down,
eyes closed,
As if imagining the waxed-up body springing
Her favourite dress,
her pearl necklace
ready to dance with the dead.
How tears eventually made their way
down people’s cheeks,
rivers borne of memory,
Their hands tightly clasped as if waiting
for a flash of death to take the
rise and fall
of their chests away.

In The Underground Of Jupiter

I forget summertime as it passes by
a drought and a blessing,
its heat a familiar blanket pressing on my skin.
A shell against all the blinding bright light
outside an iridescent bubble of mind-numbing days
as they morph into a slow creature, then
a fast one,
time an inescapable sadness,
a locket,
a face,
one picture.
Yet love is an exclusive red carpet reserved for
humanity and humanity only,
Hollywood, something-or-other
trying to imitate something that cannot be caught
in a lense or in a word
in the end it is love that drags all your mascara down,
hands greedy, longing, wanting,
I don’t think I can take this anymore
I can’t, I can,
“Godspeed” as you leave the dock
to some other world,
some other place,
some other reality
where the catch of time fails to reach.

I am time, your hands the ticking of a clock.

[notes of finality calling for tears to run
as the screen...