If Shakespeare
    had met Elvis Presley
    he would have been tempted
    to write rock-poetry-

   If Amadeus
  had met Elvis Presley
  he would have been persuaded
to compose rock--melodies--- too many!

   If Warren Buffet
  had met Elvis Presley
  he would have said:
'  Invest in my company!'

   If Elon Musk
had met Elvis Presley
  he would have induced him
  to sing the song: ' Tesla The All-Mighty!'

By all means
         live wildly
         and audaciously
         but not rebelliously

Down with AI and technology
they are a menace to our creativity
in the extreme they do surreptitiously
take away our very sanity!

I don't aim for altitude

my focus is on attitude

In the dead of night
     neither moon nor stars in sight
     only the winds' sigh

Unrelenting is the winter--night
        I'm yet to cover so many miles
       bitter winds smite my pale face
       all my longing heart knows is sighs-

       no wrong have I done
        songs is all I write
       love is loath to come my way
       consolation is not in sight-
  
      an *****-grinder I meet
      he says:  Lost we are--you and I
      homeless and loveless without hope
     it'd be a blessing this night to die'-

     I can see tears in his eyes
     and with these words I reply:
     I'm the composer of Winterreise
    a song I'll sing now--as the dying leaves drift by

If there were no memory
       where would there be
       any heartache or melancholy?

You're cold , worn out and poor-
feel free to knock on my door
it's late sunset--you're hungry
come in and you'll share my dinner-

if in the distant future
and good fortune were to make you prosper
I might be worn out, hungry and poor
would you this moment remember?

I am an unknown writer
  not agonised if plagiarised
  instead would be taken to delight
  with a great element of surprise

for my limits I know so well
thousands of writers out there
have so many great things to tell
these folks would detect  at once I'm only hot-air!

Not the art of speaking
      but that of not-speaking
      which is the more important thing

.....but we were so young then
       and blood was wildly rushing
       through our every vein-
       our heart was in unstoppable flame
       there was no asking why
       with no rules to comply-
       we wrote our poems
       in rapturous abandon
       in the watching sky-
      
      braver than Ulysses
       stronger than Prometheus:
      ' Our name is Youth
        to us the entire world belongs
        we will never die!'

       It was always bright
       for us-- the watching sky
       so tempting, so inviting
       so friendly, so supporting
      if we had wings then
      towards it we'd readily fly

      and all that while
      time was watching
      not as a sentinel benign
      but like a malicious spy
      to handcuff us
     it seemed to try

     but it badly failed
     our will triumphed
     and set it aside-

    mistakes we did make
    but there's no reason
   for the smallest regret :
   we'd sailed the roughest seas
   the nighest peaks
   who had climbed
   with courage and faith
   on our side-
  
  
   even now
   in our winter-years
   in retrospect
  the same anthem
  we still fervently sing:
' We were young then
   but it remains
   our greatest pride!'.

Easy to hold
hard to let go

When to disconnect
is better than to connect

Hush, listen
  to the voice
   of the night
   it will comment
   on your hours
   during the daylight-

    is it your conscience
    or your doppelganger?

    will you ignore
    and get to sleep
    or would it make
    you wonder
    whether you could
   have done better?

    Hush, listen
    you will learn....

I'll hear you out
just speak gently
you don't need to shout!

Patient I'll be
I'm in no hurry
I'll hear your story

only that
you don't lie
or preach--and just speak honestly.

Believe me
I'll not judge
nor respond unkindly

for I do know
everyone is entitled
to their story

I'll hear you out
attentively and wholeheartedly
in our common humanity.

Look away
      I can't
      it makes
      my blood boil
      
      it's like him
     throwing moral poison
      at the public-square
      on all
      
    
        my integrity and yours
      he wants to destroy
      and this he proclaims:
      ' I am the power
        the authority
        I know it all-
        everything else
        is trash
        only I, I alone
         am the saviour!'

         He scowls
         he grins
         he mocks
         he sneers-

        I've enough....

        If I had a revolver
       I'd immediately draw!

This is the power
of silence
it makes the other party
stall, guess, speculate, fidget
the longer
the more effective-

he's left dangling
as he waits and waits
at his watch he looks
and is close to the expletive

he begins to doubt himself
unsure whether to stay
or move away-
' Will some words
  this bloke say,?'

  Silence-
the punishment
the torture
the despair
( 'This guy
   is a tough chestnut!')

   An hour goes by
   '  I give up-
      on account
      of him
      I'll not die!'

    complete silence
    but for the caw
    of a crow which flies by......

In whatever I can
  I'll find a way
  to make this
a fun-derful day!

Much of life
       is a mist
       what's there
       your eyes would miss

       yet you linger on
       'and say: ' This isn't complete
       that which is not whole
       is in no way a treat'

       Who would wish
      to see a rose that's half -covered?
      A lover longs for a full commitment
      such a person frowns upon a flirt.

    A symphony with missing notes
    which music-lover would cherish?
    Would imagination alone
    substitute for  the real kiss?

I well know my reach-
  I never wish to compete

The day might
or not please:
I'm a stoic
I keep my peace

The heart has laws
that transcend those
of the highest courts
and leave the latter's in woeful throes.

When beauty
is over-idolised
it accentuates
the ugly-

each in nature
has their right
all comparisons
only stoop to divide

West:  Enforce!


Zen and Taoism:  End force!

With no one
do I have any score
I find no cause
to defend my honour

The falling petals bear my tears
    the green fields I'll not visit again
    a heartless scythe is fate
    my only companion is unceasing pain-

    by the world neglected
    and forgotten-- my life is all in vain
   through my lonely window I gaze
   a gray sky trembles over the plain-

   my friends no longer look my way
   from mentioning my name they refrain
   how happy they all are--revelling in wine and song
  such great spirits they maintain

while I'm withering, wasting, love-wanting
waiting for my sanity to propitiously return
hope eludes me, the night mocks me-  life's nonchalant-
poetry alone is my consolation as I write this my last testament

* the great nature/rural poet, was placed in the asylum from1837--1841; absconded in 1841 and walked 80 miles home. Wrote 3,000 poems, also essays and journals.  A tragic life.  ' I AM' is perhaps his most poignant poem.  I read the poem aged 14 from a book-prize awarded by my school, in the then Malaya, a British colony until 1957

I love wisdom
also freedom-
if I can't have both
the latter is my preference

I have no home now
   only walls of my prayer
   this is a monk's life

Speak not
even though
you thought
you were right-
remain silent
when others speak
aloud in strife-

thus with you
the Tao will abide

Old man smokes his pipe
gazing into day's last light
tears hidden in eyes

There's no such thing
as sacred ground
it's that inner-sanctum
only within the heart found

Dream---it's an over-idolised word-

to be obsessed does deception create

I stepped back
into the corridor of the past
'You aren't welcome!'
(It sternly reprimanded!)

  You've your own life
  mine too I've crafted
at different directions we now look
  we should best stay parted

   for nothing do I owe you
   though me you once commanded
   from your chain I've broken
   all your obstacles I've circumvented-

   don't you come this way again
   I'll have you relentlessly stranded
   you might hold me in my thought
   but I don't want to be remembered!"

You don't need
to search for light
if you have created
it inside

...but time-lines
  are not for me
  they'd only inhibit
my creativity-

nature knows
when to appear:
with end of autumn
winter will be near-

if I write at all
it must surely be
from my heart's bidding
in complete spontaneity-

let the addictive scientist
focus on his lonely laboratory-
calibrations and measurements
(in time-prescribed) to the minutest accuracy-

mine shall only be
what I ascribe in my heart-line
unfettered and without boundary
whether I write in prose or poetry.

Life--  more the decoupling
  than the matching

It takes four or five years
     to qualify in engineering
    mine takes a life-time--
    it's called 'life-engineering'

     copyright. I have not come across this term

That which is accomplished
is less relished
than that which is nascent-
the flow of becoming
of blossoming
the yet -to- be
the ripening-

even love should wait patiently
for its consummating
look at the sky in dawn-breaking
its beauty is only the beginning-

be still, be calm, be gentle
my heart in longing
when you wake up in the morning
you'll find the greatest blessing

Don't display

your love in public:

it's lack of decorum

you'd be regarded a creep!

When knowing
what to unlearn
is more important
than to learn

To find your true self-- verily-

requires only honesty and humility

intelligence is not necessary

Perception
is superior to education

Swanson Street is yawning
  the pubs are closed
  street-lamps flicker
   cabs are waiting in rows-

  some revellers are drunk
to  Flinders Station how they struggle
a woman is singing La vie en rose
a bird is chirping on a church steeple-

a sudden gust descends from nowhere
it sweeps discarded papers and debris into the crispy air-

a hungry and mangy dog scrounges at the bin
it's pitiful and finds but a banana-skin-

under the lights of Princes Bridge
a few tramps and vagabonds are asleep-

at this sombre hour why am I still wandering?
Time I've lost count of, sitting on a bench in poetry-writing

Quest and conquest:
the former speaks of self-fulfilment
the latter is about self-aggrandisement

By the silent lake
kids lined up their paper-boats
under the bright sun

Early morning mist
hovering o'er wet tree-tops
first flush of birdsong

The debris and quagmire
    the remnants of past time
    let's mould them to our fashion
   for a meaningful outcome-

   nothing shall be lost
   if to nothing we succumb
   from ashes springs the phoenix
   the basest can be made sublime.

....but time
   has no home:
   to exist
  it must roam

  yet omnipotent
on its very own

   most feared
    by so many
    especially
    when they're alone

   being homeless
  and to none belonged
  it can be irksome:
  its uninvited presence
  is often carelessly thrown

  but
when the world is asleep
it feels a deep sense of loss
in being totally forgotten

....and the time has come
    to pause, to be silent
    to be still, to reflect
   to piece together
    the parts that have been broken-

    the stepping aside
   myself to examine
   to revisit every past scene
  none of which can be forgotten

for memory is just
too persistent
too stubborn
and makes unwarranted demands
on the vulnerable person

but I'll step into myself
to stand on alone
and claim
what's that I own-
my dignity
my freedom
my will-to-be
that can never
be taken
away
or ever stolen

I searched outside
to no avail
being such denied
I looked inside

and what a surprise
( the experience was never in my past life)
'twas as though I'd discovered
an earthly paradise!