Know the literal
but understand the figurative
it's not the kernel
the latter is the real gift

Those who are happy are not even conscious of it-
it's a state of inner freedom where they are at home
being themselves and are at one with the moments before them.
Life is in order--there's no disarray, doubt, anxiety or fear-
only a state of grace, calm, harmony, being in tune with self and others, as well as with the universe-- it's the experience of completeness beyond the pale of words--even poets and artists can't describe this dimension which, to me, borders on the sublime , the spiritual, and even, the mysterious.  

Here is the epiphany of love and beauty, of worship, of acceptance of life in all its indescribable wonders and splendours.Yet, happiness isn't blind to nor does it turn away from suffering--
only that, just as it recognises life's sunshine, it, in equal measure,
accepts such suffering from which none is immune--it is prepared to walk through its darkest shadows, in utmost humility, without any sense of loss or bitterness.

That there's pain and sorrow doesn't demean life nor does
it blemish happiness-

indeed, in the acceptance of such, happiness takes on even more meaning as this  ennobles life and bequeaths a spiritual dimension that strengthens rather than weakens the self.

Those we recognise happiness and suffering as not mutually exclusive are truly enlightened.

VALENTINE’S DAY 2014


Have I not said and written enough?
Every day is to us a Valentine’s Day
I shall not buy you red roses-
They will just wither away

While the love that ever
In our faithful hearts dwells
Outlasts the last sunshine and moonlight
The most beautiful story it tells.

Our love should be quiet, gentle
As mellow as the chords of the cello
What a sacred word love is----this
True hearts which love truly cherish and know.

Time is fleeting by, my love, draw nigh
The songs of bygone days let us sing
In sweet remembrance of every moment we shared then
So fondly still I recall that day when we met in sweet spring.

Sunshine there is
but not always
I'll create my own
to light up my life in all ways.

Not you
nor anyone
but me
the last person
who would ALMOST
come close enough
to knowing
my real self
for to live
is to doubt.

Little bird, sing, oh sing
though  sad and plaintive is your song
what has caused you pain
who has done your wrong?

but this
you should know
the human world
has much more woe

Give him
the mike
that's what
he does most like

Falling is not surrender
everyone slips on life's slippery floor
an issue not related to error
for redemption there's no need to implore--

from the ruins of chaos and disorder
the portals of renewed hope I'll explore
beams of sustained beauty and wonder
shall follow-- I'll resurrect and love life more.

Colours,  such wonders
they speak-- listen, do listen well
each offers itself in unabashed nakedness
hear, oh hear what tales they tell-

yet, their voices, so tender
(they seek not to impress)---so demure
how they sink into your depths
your inner eye wakes to explore

your own life, the present and past
for you have chosen one of your own
what you are and the love you feel
is a colour---unknown to others, only to you alone--

a thought, a feeling, a joy or sorrow
is coated in colour and from the spectrum
one arises to console your heart or your hand to hold
what is the colour that dwells in your sanctum?

Hardly do we realise
the shine that meets others' eyes
does not from our face arise
its true home is that which in our heart abides.

Life would not be an error
if you greet it daily with humour

Poetry is much closer to music than prose, however lyrical the latter might be.
The latter impinges on the immediate senses while the former is of a much more subtle, profound, sublime and transcendental nature.

I don't ever want to be measured
          others' opinions I've never treasured

It's because

of today

that I have

my say:


I'll stay

I'll not walk away!

Freedom in the air

early flight of birds in cheer

heralds in new day

If in the wrong place
  you place your heart
  virtue you would have lost
  even before your start

I must cross-over
I can't breathe on this side
smog is all around me
no fresh air does abide.

I must cross-over
they won't leave me alone
loudly they knock on my door
and shout: You can't be on your own'

I must cross-over
they say further: ' Don't be stubborn'
but they've never met or known
me-- and they dare declare: 'You are rotten!'

I must cross-over
I'm beginning to lose my voice
the cacophony is chocking me
I'd die soon from their ceaseless noise.

I must cross-over
though they've built a barricade
by the still of midnight
I'll bypass them through my secret gate.

I must cross-over
they would leave me no mental space
they are the mind-raiders
they would stalk me in any place.

I will cross-over
to the side of my choice
I won't allow them to dissect me
in their mind-lab--I'm free to find my own voice.

An English village dated 1754
a silly wandering *** fell into a hole
the villagers saved the creature and the village prospered
the ground was held a lucky spot and named ***-Hole!

We could never escape
others' false suppositions
in whatever size or shape
in myriad twists and contortions-

words so subtle in such they drape
it requires vigilance to sport their insinuations
too keen to catch us  unprepared and agape
they excel in the art of machinations.

I am a humanist.

Like John Keats, I don't have a religion
but these words of his touched me profoundly:

“I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the Heart's affections and the Truth of the imagination.”

He died in spiritual doubt but seemed to believe in immortality.

I prefer a biological extinction---
all that I have felt and experienced in my life is enough--
why would I need another life?

My last 6 words will be:  It is just this---no more

It's not for me- poetic  magnificence-
I'm merely a lover of words which I weave
together in moments of awakened inspiration
hoping what's written makes sense in every sentence

But taking stock
implies your barn
holds much goods
you need thick accounting books
don't miss any item
assess the worth of each
with utmost care
allow for wear and tear
(depreciation that is)
the aim:  profit-maximisation
business people can't afford
to slack.  Done!  great satisfaction!

As for me,  no material goods
come into play---I have nothing
and what I mean by stock-taking
is simply this:  my life-evaluating
as I move towards trying
to find purpose and meaning
I could never take anything
when I own nothing
and as I'm writing
the following
a voice within me
is prompting:
be happy and content
you are not in the pursuit
of money-making.

Your best contribution
of the day-
when you don't stand
in someone's way

Dreams too many
they create misery:
the person is drowned
in his whim and fancy

give me one only
I'll work on it diligently
I'll wait patiently
for its maturity

If life
were an illusion
what's all the fuss about?

I would like just
to be a pebble on the shore
let the tide of life
all over me run over

and I'd have no reason
like the rest to complain
side by side me each knows its lot
none does know any human sorrow or pain.

My youth they stole, my manhood they confused and I was grievously bruised. You are young and foolish. You are aimless and lost. We'll lead you to the rightful path. Us you can trust.

They became my shepherd and I was a blind sheep. I stayed in their tent and shared their food not knowing it contained slow-working drugs. I'd give them my life for they couldn't do any wrong. I was addicted and intoxicated. I became delirious
and I suffered from strange and frightful dreams.

My youth they stole and my manhood they bruised.

I lost my best years.

First type:

They revel in their past glories and successes.
They practically insist on being heard and hope they will be admired.
They are loud, very loud and insensitive.
They repulse others.

Second Type:

They say only a few words-- and in neutral terms-
moving away from themselves as they don't wish
to attract any attention to themselves.
Such people are self-sufficient unlike the first type.
They are likely to be amiable and pleasant people.

Between the two, the first seem to predominate--
such is the weakness of human nature

Birds don't fear branches
  nor the slenderest of twigs
  we don't have their faith

Life is a general picture
of conjecture and wrong measure

I don't wish
to be wiser
only to be
gentler
kinder
warmer
humbler
calmer
and quieter

On personal cultivation and development, also on duty, responsibility, altruism, service to the community/society/country, leadership and governance,  none in the world, even now, can match the wisdom of Confucius 600 BCE as expounded in his immortal classic THE ANALECTS.  



Book 4

Virtue attracts others and never stands alone


Book 7:

These things cause me concern-

if I fail

1. to probe deeper into what I have learnt

2. to reform myself when I have defects, etc

Give me a few years more so that I might still study when I am fifty

and as such free myself from my major errors.

Book 13

If a person has succeeded in making himself correct,

what difficulty would he face in governing?



There's a short chapter on this in THE GENTLE ART OF TAO LEADERSHIP-- A 21ST CENTURY PERSPECTIVE, Nov 2020, distributed by Simon & Schuster, published in Melb, to be republished in US this year.


At a Nobel Prize Writers' Conference held in Paris in 1988,

the following statement was declared:

' If mankind is to survive, it must go back 2,500 years to tap the wisdom of Confucius'

Free lunch?
Of course
I'll go to my kitchen
nothing will it cost

Night wrapped in silence
not a single soul in sight
but the wind's moaning

Poetry old and new--all types
I read and feed on by night or day
verily it grows on my skin-
it's the sunshine, I'm the hay

time the insidious and mindless invader
surely and without warning will put me away
but I'll still write my last line
and unreservedly have my final say.

I see better

when I walk away

from the self

I was yesterday

Forgotten old home

facing cool autumn water

reflection of trees

None did share
your lonely sorrow
in your darkest hours
your poignant words ne'er ceased to flow

drawn from the furthest depth
of your pierced heart and bruised mind
the darkness that haunted your days entire
with all reason long left behind

but the green fields
the flowers and trees
among which you laboured
every moment you did please

where were those who
once loved and did treasure you?
they became more strange
than strangers--not even a few

were willing to remember
you as a long-lost friend  
as you lingered hopelessly in the cell
where for two decades you did spend.

Passion--   a lesser word would blemish
The glory of an autumnal afternoon
The melancholy of Schumann drifted through the music room
It made the heart weep and swoon

And life's poignancy never seemed more real
Than every celestial note from the master's quintet
That which is beyond the limits of words
Is the soul of music: this , this was a moment in time I would not forget.

Young woman by stream

             cooling her feet in water

              sees her reflection

Where is love?
it's in the kitchen
for home verily
is heaven.

Where is love?
it's in the garden
soiled fingers
happy haven!

Where is love?
it's at the sewing-machine
mending torn socks
then washing them clean.

Where is love?
not just felt but must be seen
lock it not in the closet
all this as said is what it should mean.

It's the same drone
of the day--in minor key
of life's song. Gone
is the melody-

the world it does seem
to have lost its will and staying power
where has vanished its once-proud dream?
would it ever re-discover its golden hour?

Its mind is clogged and its heart is fainting
love is bewildered and longs for sleeping
the flowers in the bower are sombre even in the spring
no message of hope or cheer do the seasons bring--

but I the lover eternal will never lose my longing
even in my absence, you would hear my heart's wild beating
the kisses we exchanged they will do the remembering
I will return from the faraway-- the vows I made are in my keeping.

I don't want to fly
I'm scared of any height
as long as I am on my two feet
I'll feel completely all right

Don't fall for the Romeo-Juliet story
  let love be your own discovery

As a young man I went in search of truth
met this wise man with the longest beard
he said as though he was half-asleep:
'  To be wise, look beyond the absurd'.

How many times
did I lie today?
lost count
really couldn't say!

Salam, Dr Zik.  You are profound.  Everything of lasting value will, in the last analysis, bear, at least to some degree, a mark of the spiritual and sublime.  Prose is less eloquent than poetry though it is powerful in its own right but the most subtle and profound is found in the unfathomable mysterious which is the heart of great poetry.  We are only a blade of grass in the field of the Universe but are nevertheless blessed with a soft poetic voice that makes us human.

Music is the gateway to the highest spirituality

the eternal consolation and the most blessed grace

in her generous caress and imperishable beauty

it flourishes and enchants in any clime or place

Give us peace
   this is the greatest good
   stop the making of ammunitions
   let's produce more food.

   Kindness and compassion
   should be mankind's very root
   let hatred be replaced by love
   follow the path of grace we all should.

It seems to me the feminine Japanese mystique is more intriguing than its Western counterpart's ---it lies in its grace, naturalness, humility and demureness, depth in self-restraint and sobriety.