In my past years
  too much anger I expressed
  I've learnt through tears
  its futility---my heart is now at rest--

  I was not born
  the world to reform
  myself I tutored--gone
  is the rancour-- on the platform

of tranquility and humility I stand
by others' words or deeds I'm unfazed
at life's very twist and bend
in no acrimony should I be placed--

the world was not created for my sake
from fate I don't make any claim
only what belongs to me I gratefully take
life I should live without suffering shame.

* inspired by a conversation I had with friends this morning in Melbourne

completed at 4 pm today --26th Dec 2017--Melbourne time

But
there's no healing
to be found
it's a scarred world
was so at the start
the end wouldn't
be different
that's the pitiful summary
of the human condition-
there's no relief
nor consolation
outside of self-

each life retreats
into its own inner sanctum
and nurses its own
pains and wounds
in silence unknown--

your tears are yours alone
your plight is of no other's concern
your neighbour cares more
about his dog or garden--

ah!  how the heart
has hardened
at the brink
hangs humanity
there would be
no show of compassion
nor the milk of pity-

dark is the night
darker is the human heart
every inch of  the light
it swallows-- beauty it sets apart--

I went
I saw
I came back
the ugliness
was as before--

where's sanity?
where's decency?
where's purity?
where's charity?

there's little hope
there's no healing
to be found
all that does abound
is the desolate self
in weeping
on its own home-ground.

My friends did ask me in earnest
' At your ending, what do you have to show?'
  what a difficult question! My answer:
  ' Truthfully I don't know'.

The past
leaves no tracks
only that
you imagine
you could retrace
your every step
and wish
that the outcome
had been different-

like sand
swept away
and swallowed
by the ravenous sea-

if there are tears
you weep alone
you can't reclaim
what had gone before-

like a song
sung only once
never to be heard
again

like a leaf
lost in a storm

like a flower
detached from the stem

like a star
fallen into space infinite

like clouds
dispersed

like a kiss lost
as the lover
has bidden goodbye

like love
that has died-

the past
is a disconnect
a critic
that mocks
it has no face
a mist
that has disappeared
into the nowhere.

Poetry
that which transcends the self
it's the voice
that speaks of life and humanity
of which each poet is a part-
the self that incorporates
the common human heart-

the 'I' becomes the 'we'
suffering that's singular
assumes the plural

the same thread
that runs through the fabric
of every single life
where each act
of the drama
is played out--alone
but to end
in the blend
that bears the name:
' Our Oneness In Life's Sojourn'--

one person's tears
fall into a mysterious sea
that is the depository
of all tears---the ultimate home
that opens its doors
to every weary traveller
who bears no name
but requires no ID
to enter--

poetry then
is
our  own face
in the shared mirror

it's the message
the focal point
the quintessence
of a universal religion.

As a child
I learnt

as a man
I tried to understand

as an old man
I tried to re-learn--as a child

Tonight to myself
I'll say:
let reason be asleep
let thinking go away-

no longer shall I be caged
within any boundary
words trouble me with their insistence
testing me with their strange vocabulary-

I long for rest and sleep
my heart and soul are weary
the load of past experience oppresses
I'm struggling to be free--

shadows lurk in the night
they seem to be watching me
the winds that drift  by are whispering:
we know your sad story.