Intelligence

is fearful of intuition

Not the eloquence
but the substance

Weltschmerz
    it's common
    but individually hidden

    life the angst
   the grind of time
   the tribulation

   the drifting
  to the unknown
  no answer to the nagging question

the world weariness
the monotonous undertone
the same melancholic content

Don't be too eager to remark
on your neighbour's garden
just look carefully at the rot
of your own backyard

When my pen
  has run dry
  and words begin
to fail---I hang on
I still try
for yielding
is no option:
where there are
healthy roots
the tree doesn't die-

a voice within me
out it does cry:
your life does
in words lie-
this you can't deny:
revisit your waiting pen:
write
write
write!

In one hand
beauty I hold
in the other
sorrow untold-

I'm dying
in this late winter
Rome is not home
to return to England never-

love is beyond my reach
fate is too cruel
I'm fading away in illness
with nothing to fulfil-

no epitaph will I write
only my poetry will speak for me
ah,  how sweet will that moment of release be
when I fall into my final sleep-- so gladly

Regard me
not seriously
only lightly-
this best defines me

The moment
I become self-conscious
I'd no longer
be spontaneous-

learn from the kids
in their free happy self-abandon
they don't watch themselves
and their every act is resplendent!

Don't 'bring me to books'
my collection has over 500
my library can hold no more
this would cause me much grievous dread

You are no loser
you were never a competitor

No door of life

is closed to me-

I have carved

an all-purpose key

Neither excess
    nor deficiency
    this is equilibrium
    the point of rest


*. 'Doctrine of the Mean' in the Sage's THE ANALECTS, 600 BCE

West: personal success

    Confucianism: collective success

From the Diary of an Old Man


Neither to regret , blame nor complain

There's enough religiousness
in every act of genuine kindness

Myself I'll not pitch
beyond my limit

I don't need
to be admired
or praised
only to be respected

The weakest
         aren't powerless
         within them still
         there are latent resources
         that unyielding spirit
         that unbreakable will
         to unshackle all odds

        we are each a Herculean
        despite life's slings
        and every tribulation

        we'll forge a way
        out of the enclosing darkness
       and fearlessly proclaim:
       ' We are too large for brokenness !'

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