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    • Victoria Chwa
      • Oct 8, 2021
      • 2 min read

    the song of the sea

    Race and class identity create differences in quality of life, social status, and lifestyle that take precedence over the common experience women share.

    bell hooks, Feminist Theory: From Margin to Center


    Written as part of a summer assignment for the MA Gender, Media and Culture course at Goldsmiths University of London 2021-2022. Inspired by the quote above.


    the king shouts from across the deck

    “take a good look, men!”

    a storm rages over the wreck

    for the honour you defend.


    three sheets to the wind!

    the men say

    in victory, we return!

    and they shall sing and they shall prance -

    o the glory we have earned.


    crack 'er open!

    the men say

    the race has just begun!

    barrels of wine with a feast to pair

    - a true celebration


    the king calls on his concubine

    "a woman like no other"

    skin that looked and felt like snow

    and a smile like the perfect summer


    day after day night after night

    the seige raged on! an unimaginable plight -

    she waits in my quarters and to her arms I return

    the comfort of a good woman


    outside the sky splits!

    like a dagger through the heart -

    a deafening growl

    then thorns rained down

    and the night now forlorn


    “there’s a crack in the hull!”

    shouts the watchman from the mast

    and then the celebration ends.

    suddenly alerted, charged the men

    against a piercing blast


    the king, leading the pack,

    rushed out into the tempest

    their vessel broke in harrowing pain

    for deluge births a deafening silence


    can you hear that?

    the deckhand asks as he approached the edge

    a song so loud and resonant

    but all who hear it is dead


    walk the plank and there you see

    women of dark energy

    come hither, come hither whispers she

    and you shall drown in anarchy


    they hear the song! they do, they see!

    sing the women in the sea

    the concubine and the deckhand jump!

    much to the dismay of the king


    one day, a storm may rage

    our vessel may break

    and leave behind a wreck


    hear the song of the sea

    the sea of people

    of people like you and me

    hear it from them

    hear their story

    honour the song of the sea


    • Poetry
    5 views0 comments
    • Victoria Chwa
      • Dec 27, 2020
      • 2 min read

    in perpetuum

    whence all the winds are silent,

    and all the rain are fallen,

    and all we hear are the songs of sirens:

    so oft! I think of you —

    You had hoped that, by this time, you would have everything sorted out.

    The train would arrive at its stop and you would step into the most beautiful, variegated landscape life had to offer. The clouds would whisk into a comforting blend as the sun’s rays danced upon rich verdure. Hills were abound, as were flowers. Then, from the corner of your eyes, you would see a charming little cottage resting atop the highlands. It would sing of fresh, warm bread.

    And there would be music.

    You wanted to believe that, if there were a time and place for everything, then everything would have its own time and place. You wanted to believe that there exists an extraordinary serenity – a solace so pure and gratifying that it was free of anguish, misery and torment.

    Yet, life’s greatest rewards did not come without trial. She had her own method of distillation. She eliminated those who did not prove themselves worthy to bask in her sunlight. She threw at you one expectation after the other, and those who failed her test were the ones who let her challenges overwhelm them.

    She sees you.

    You fought. You did. You climbed over much of the obstructions in your way. There had been many a trough of despair but you escaped nonetheless. You have the lacerations to prove it.

    She sees you.

    She sees your body.

    She sees your soul.

    And you bleed.

    And you burn.

    And you swallow the noise of the world.

    O, detachment in the air today:

    ’tis calling for me!

    like oasis on the Sahara

    I am entwined —

    And there would be music.


    originally published: 7 Mar 2019

    • Creative Writing
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    • Victoria Chwa
      • Dec 27, 2020
      • 1 min read

    green monster

    a browning rose;

    a sitting horse;

    shallow waters

    and shades of grey –

    O, halcyon! Great twilight, ascend

    now! reveal the balmy veil – Aegis of dawn!

    If we see Dante, nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita,

    it would be, merely,

    a r e f l e | ɔ ƚ i o n of

    what would have been.

    I have grown unsure of my own self, strangely

    yet the tightening of the red string of fate, (our fate?)

    I feel – infallibly. impeccably.

    Gaze upon her gait – I admire

    your voice, a song, the whispers of nymphs.

    ’tis playing field, en٨inɘyardɘd thus –

    You were enough.

    beep beep beep

    b e e p b e e p b e e p

    beep beep beep

    there you lay –

    i hear the silent marble walls scream

    O, pretty shade of red,

    my dear – I fear me, too rightfully.

    they do spoil their little darling.

    how coruscant, scintillating as aurora, you are

    picture of perfection. sight for sore eyes.

    no more. none of this; no time for gewgaw.

    all bagatelle.

    i have awaken from solecism and culpability.

    dulce, grandeur, ángelos –

    by your side, i place a browning rose

    there you lay, by a sitting horse

    to the north, shallow waters painted grey –

    i will place you on a keel.

    i will wear your skin.

    they will call your name.

    O, halcyon.


    originally published: 4 May 2017

    • Creative Writing
    0 views0 comments
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    © 2021 by Victoria Chwa.
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