Why the rush
the eagerness to know?
sunset is not yet
the day still retains its glow-

rest will soothe my bones by dusk
and sleep will accompany  me till the morrow
there will be time abundant to ponder
I won't allow any anxiety to grow-

how patient is the rosebud
time it abides by to silently blow
summer walks just behind spring
in the right season it will follow--

and you, my beloved
away too soon I shouldn't go
my hidden words are yet to unfold
the moon its full radiance is waiting to proudly show.

silence in the wood
a bird flits from tree to tree
shaking a few leaves

Let us mend ourselves first

before we can reach out to others

What did I fail to do today?
Am I trying to brush the issue away?

Dear Esteemed Karina,  they are both exquisite. If I say I like this one, I would do injustice to the other.  Each creates its own mood and exudes its own depth and beauty.  If you ask me to compare the beauty of two women, I would have the same problem, so I say--they both have their individual charm.



Haiku on 'the abstract light blue'



Feelings have their moods

sad hearts tend to prefer blue

sort of pain subdued.



Haiku on 'Wintry Evening'



Wintry evening

grey shadows descend on trees

not a soul in sight

Malice is clever
  an innocent face it wears
  sharper than a cleaver
  the victim it callously tears.

He said to me:

let's have a conversation--

I should let you know beforehand

with regard to opinions, I am very stubborn

Beth, geniuses are driven by a force within which they can't shake off.  However much they might resist, the voice doesn't go away--it reaches the point that makes them delirious or mad--that's when they realise the gift is a curse and they have to pay a price in suffering and torment.  They ask themselves: Is this worth the price?

Yet, it's their misery that gives the world the gift of infinite beauty, wonder and awe.  We are the benefactors of their suffering.

Of Sartre and Camus
and the rest of the host
(too many besides)
to them should we toast?

I am a Zen-man
struggle in reason
I'll not-- what life metes
humbly I accept---it's prison

to live in the mind
questioning is dumb
ten thousand doubts
emerge---what a dreadful outcome!

all that's in life is
pure such-ness
call a rose by ten other names
it will still but be its intrinsic loveliness

the river is the river
the hill is the hill
the hour is the hour
that which is still is still

of the universe I am part
without me it's not integral or whole
only in this blend will my heart
find its peace--we are the substance of the same pole

drawn from the field of void's mystery
in the eons of time-- beyond any intelligent telling
self is delusion, we are one of the Many
which is the meaning beyond all meaning

that which is truth
has no name to it attached
the Tao is the way
to nothing attached

of Sartre and Camus, also all those in the Restless Band
the clamour for understanding, the angst and the anguish
in the existential absurdity--from that I walk far away
in Zen's teachings I abide which all doubts extinguish.

burst of Spring sunshine
market bustles with gaiety
children **** ice-creams

Nothing is heavier
I dare say
than the weight
of an oppressive thought
that refuses to go away.

IT’S JUST THE THING

Birds  must sing
lovers must  love
poets  must write
the sky must hang above
(It’s just the thing)

If love is just the thing
wouldn’t it be easy
for you to say
you love me?

Life is more about the heart
than the mind --the brain scientists don't know
enough--they generalise as such suits them-
theories-what theories?  Are they the foe

then, claiming that everything is reason-locked?
if every moment we have to knock on the mind's door and ask:
what should I do next,? we might as well
say good-bye to life forever since that would be an impossible task.

Dear Readers
I am no philosopher, nor had I taken any course in philosophy.
Furthermore, I have read very little though there are some philosophers who are close to my heart---Montaigne, Marcus Aurelius, Epicurus, Seneca, Epictectus, Nietzsche, Sartre, Camus and a few more.

However, I have plunged myself into the writings of Confucius, Lao-Tze (author of Tao Te-Ching) and his followers', Buddhism and Zen.

I never planned to write this 'life series'-- after having written a few,
I couldn't stop. But these were not 'forced' thoughts--it's as though they had been latent somewhere in the labyrinth of my mind--in incubation-  waiting for the right time to hatch.

A writer must have honesty and integrity.  I did not have a book in front of me so that I could copy an idea and then ventured to restate in my own words--all the ideas I have expressed are my own.  
It's intrinsically me thinking about life and my own experiences
and my way of perceiving things.

They had been written at home, in the tram, in the library, in coffee-joints--even mentally when I had my regular walks.

No doubt, some would not agree with what I have said and I am not the least offended or unhappy in any way as such---I welcome their comments so that I could re-examine what I had expressed. I would even learn from them.  

I realised right from the start that I could inadvertently stir up a hornet's nest but I was prepared to take that risk, even to the extent of
being challenged or ridiculed.

No one looks at life in the same way as we are all unique.  At the same time, none has the monopoly of knowledge or wisdom--not even the brightest among us.  Life is such that we could only understand some parts of it with most being unknowable.  There are limits to our understanding but we don't throw our hands in the air and give up-
we are thinking creatures and are never content to stay stagnant-
it's in our nature to explore, to reach out, to understand and try to make sense of things that matter or our life would have little meaning or value- we have to push frontiers and test our limits to be able to come to our own.  

It's in the light of the above that I have marshalled enough courage to
write this 'life-series'.

I sincerely hope that readers would come forward to talk to me.

My best wishes to all of you.
4th December 2017, Melbourne

Measure me
not by what I appear
but what I am

measure me
not by what I want
but what I reject

measure me
not by words I say
but my unknown deeds

measure me
not when I am in public
but in my privacy

measure me
not by my success
but my failure

measure me
not by what I know
but what I am ignorant of

measure me
not by what others say
but from our personal encounters

measure me
not out of sympathy
but with impartiality

measure me
not with the yardstick of bravery
but my vulnerability

measure me
not as among the selected company
but among the poor and needy

measure me
not when the world is for me
but when all things are against me

measure me
not by the approval of authority
but my desire to be free

measure me
not when I am in the pink of spring or summer
but when I am stricken by the harshness of winter


measure me
in my very frailty
that alone would make me happy.

LIFE AND I

Life sends me an invitation
‘ Let’s have a conversation’
  I decline without hesitation-
‘ I need not your explanation’.

Enough conversation I have had through life
With my own heart---in every season--
Words are but shadows of truth, they cajole
Must everything have a reason?

I should be as empty
As the open sky
I should dwell in wordless nature
I should not ask: Why?

How calm is the dusk
How serenely does the night fall
I wake, I work, I sleep, I dream---
Only that I know---it’s my all-in-all.

Written in the tram to the city

The ravage and scourge of time
joys marred and hopes muzzled
moments tested and inchoate
experiences which puzzled

for life is a silent drawn- out drama
its sides are prickly and they bristle
there are long dark nights to endure
dreams are frail and brittle

foundations are rotting and are unstable
many unsuspecting fall into dire quagmire
views ahead seem like green fields but deceive
they are mirages and spell the demise of desire

the endless quest and the inane weariness
the world has its beauty lost and has grown old
sighs, regrets, despair, unrest and doubt fill the daily page
the existential angst of living is told and retold.

Sea of blue flowers
watched by silent cottages
early blush of spring

I don't need
to say yes or no
what my heart holds
you completely know

It would not be for want of words
that I regret but my reckless superfluidity
I pour them out in mindless torrents
betraying their trust and blemishing their purity--

hushed,  silent, solemn, reverential
I should learn to be in this my journey
perchance the Grand Council of Words some day
would grant me a second chance to write poetry.

Neuro--plasticity----in language simple and plain
is re-organisation of your brain.

Meditation-where you will find
the spring-cleaning of your mind

INFINITY

Close your eyes
feel a star
falling
into your hand

open your heart
let love enter
that star
is for whom you adore

The first duty of the mind

is to know its proper place

that of the heart is to advise

the mind the meaning of beauty and grace

LOVE IS SUCH AN EASY THING

Men love women
Women also love men
Men woo women
Who say ‘Amen’.

Women also woo men
Men happily respond to women
Since love is such easy consent
What’s all the fuss about then?

2019 the new year
  but what would be new?
  after the turkey and beer
  wouldn't it be the same grumpy you?

Too soon the hours of mine will be over
there's still light, to love and beauty I must surrender

Guy, thanks for reading my posts but I am learning, even as such an old man.  I feel, I reflect, I question, I observe, I doubt, I fall back on my experience, I take in the wisdom of others, humbly, sincerely and gratefully,  I challenge myself,  I take blame for my wrong perceptions, my unkind acts and my unfair judgement of others, I accept my fallibility, my faults and my weaknesses, I adapt, I modify, I change when such is called for, and last, but not least, I accept my mortality and I prepare myself for this eventuality, with the utmost humility.

Seeing is deceptive
            you fall on fancy
            you invent or reject
            gone is the clarity.

I have nothing to say today
99.9% had been spoken yesterday.

FIVE HAIKU (6th COLLECTION)

1

The bird soared on high
too soon lost amidst the clouds
I watched and waited

2

Music heard at night
always makes me want to weep
what's in my heart?

3

In the crowded train
the mobile is life-saviour
it's the daily food

4

At a concert hall
wife whispered to the husband
Mozart was not deaf

5

The sky meets the sea
now your eyes are meeting mine
I know what they mean

I will be caught
  in the end
  and chastised
  if I write
  to be recognised
  for in that guise
  a victim I will fall
  to silly pride

a  simple stringer
of words and thoughts
through the tumble
of life
a scribbler
a dabbler
a story-teller
on the insignificant side

let the real bards sing
I'll listen in deference
in humility abide

for a small voice
am I
that truth
I shouldn't deny

Bitterest winter
   all cottage windows are shut
   faint violin strains

Secrets of the heart
recent or old
wounds that wouldn't heal
never to be told-

secrets of the heart
not even the dearest would know
love takes many a role
in joy or sorrow-

secrets of the heart
hidden in chambers only too cold
won't melt ever in the strongest heat
not a word would they unfold-

secrets of the heart
as on my dying bed I lie
they will be buried with me
none need ask: Why?

Conversation faded in neglect
dialogue abruptly stopped
next, civilisation lost its voice
yet none seemed to have sobbed-

each of us lives apart
we no longer have a face
machines have taken over
our minds and hearts they replace-

mute is our every voice
for us who or what would make a case?
Orwellian nights cast long shadows
dreams and hopes they displace-

where's joy, if any is left?
usurped what was once beauty's place
we wake to a nightmarish morrow
where life is the very death of grace

There's a chapter of your life
that could never be closed
you will recall the time
when love in gaiety posed
in the greenfield of your youth-
you wouldn't stay but walked away
though there was splendour among the hills
and the sun was bursting-red in passion
surely you should have harkened to your heart's thrills?
but no!   why? your fancy was wild
another was waving from the other end
she was fairer and her light-brown hair
was drifting in the breeze bearing her seductive scent-
you didn't say goodbye while you left
you didn't explain why--
she stood still as though in a daze
there was a tear in her eye...

two decades had travelled by
to that once-green field you returned thereafter
this time weary and disenchanted to regret and cry
she who was faithful had belonged to another.

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.

A poem
is a slice of the heart
much, much more
than a written art.

The moment
the feeling
the thought
the act
the words to say
and to avoid-
the beyond-self view
of life and of others
this then
should be the theme
of my religion
the daily engagement--

I have no place verily
for worship
but in this immediacy--

life
a brief interlude
before the curtain's fall
that which we are
or not
is the story and plot
we could count
to be a little of something
or nothing at all.

You must do your thing

and as for me,  mine

but if our paths do ever meet

that would be really fine

When a single line
has greater depth
than a thousand
and is long in memory kept

We each have a story to share

      but sadly most are not keen to hear

      I keep a diary everywhere

      I record my every joy or fear

But from you
I can't untie
breathe with me
share my every sigh

knot invisible
love I could never deny
the world and life are not
unless there's you and I

The saint, the wise man, the philosopher
they sadly never learn to play the fool
millions of lives I've changed the world over
through my'Laugh 'Til You Drop Dead' School.

Teaching oneself
is much harder
than teaching others:
there will be excuses
for not being diligent

You conquer
not by intelligence
but by good manners
and character

The inexpressible
I prefer--that expressed
all at once loses its essence-
the pure has been crudely dressed

Colours of autumn
speak of deep melancholy
of fragile beauty

Who dares say
youth is folly?
it beams with fresh dreams
while old age is foggy-

the young heart might flounder
yet to better heights it will scale
its blood is thick with wonder
its songs are never stale-

some day through tears
it will mature and tell its tale
sunlight and moonlight it had kissed
it has triumphed beyond the years' narrow pale--

old age should not sigh but recapture
scenes of the past and regale
how love has wrought such splendour
when lovers on their first ship faithfully did set sail.

Yesterday I was with time
it followed me to the day that's now
tomorrow we'll re-engage
there's no question of why or how.