The real me
     I'll wait to see

It's hard for me to define
      that wisdom is not mine

From your self
         of yesterday
         take leave--go somewhere
         you could see life in a new way

I've never sought for conquest
quietly I work,  I do my best

We are all sellers*
      and buyers#
     in terms figurative
     there's no other way to live

I don't wish to be a flower
   being a blade of **** will suit me fine
   I'll embrace the beauty of every hour
   and still share in common the day's sunshine

Everyone claims to have their own case
no wonder there's chaos in every place

You should never regard yourself as failure
        if you don't care about any other's measure

Even the expert
    could sound absurd!

There's an art to everything-
        thinking, writing, reading, listening
        but the most important thing
        is that of purposeful living

Three words we should celebrate:
         learn to wait

I'll be in your company
         if we share the bond of humanity

Blaming others---blame
is life's most popular game

Let's agree to give blame
a bad and stinking name

The same tune
should not be over-played
its beauty has faded

words that once delighted
should know when to rest
and not be over-repeated

how glorious that museum-painting
it brings tears to the beholding eyes
two of its kind would  diminish in meaning

my heart I should not perennially ask:
how much does she truly love me?
it would put me to ignoble task.

The mind is warped
it begets words of wrath and vengeance
the heart is hardened
poison lurks in every sentence

progress swallows civilisation
sepulchral is history
peace is buried
  sleeps eternally

  the rose is blemished
   it weeps and hangs down its head
   the sea is polluted
beauty is dead

   nowhere could I turn
   only love alone can save me
    from ruins for none else
    would show me any pity.

In being alive

my heart opens to sing

all else I set aside

such joys does the moment bring-



in being alive

love blooms as in sweetest spring

in bliss I abide

there's splendour in everything

Too many lives

are led in vying

leaving no room

for living

I don't have the answer
not even half or a quarter
should I mind at all
does it really matter?

They have the answers
let them preach and utter
I know there's no moon by day
no snow falling in summer.

Too much questioning
is life's constant spoiler
the fields and hills are silent
in unspoken grandeur.

Love, smiles and tenderness
these are what I dearly treasure
how could bliss and perfection be defined?
we should hark not to the ignorant philosopher.

When you are about to burst into anger

view the situation from another angle

Nothing that's done in good faith
should be a matter for regret

I am but
a book-cover
don't be deceived
forget the illustrated colour!

Because I could count
the coins in my kitty
they hardly emanate a sound
that makes me truly happy!

Boredom is not a joke
it's insidious and ubiquitous
relentless is its every poke
dark, sombre, dry and humourless

Boredom--a living death
those afflicted in despair
bore their hole in solemn ground
for the next kingdom they prepare.

A boy becomes a man
  a girl becomes a woman
  when in love they land
  it would be THEIR moment: Amen!

Short sentences do me well

I don't labour over what to tell

When speaking in brevity
is in itself the victory
rambling belongs to the shallow
many who speak do not really know

......and soon enough
the voice will speak
in slower and gentler measure
time has reached its peak
for old age is no longer the treasure
of life--- the holding frame
doesn't support as it should
the hands shiver and the feet they falter
the eyes struggle,  the ears they hear
as  broken chords-- thereafter
the music fades away--never
will the flames of youth reignite
its past dreams and passions
nor tenderest love recapture

yet faintly does flicker the amber
and it's not the time for sleep
amidst the rush of hours
both joys and sorrows still inter-mingle
their currents still run deep.

If a word says it all
why use more?
if a sentence is the essence
a paragraph would surely bore.

Then
and now
the end
comes somehow

relativity
is time
eternity
has no outcome

every moment
a meeting-point only
each sentient
a mere spark of reality

sleeping and awakening
is rhythm and necessity
loving and hating
is but life's partial story

all that is
is limits and bounds
all around something's amiss
there are no perfect sounds

living is the beginning
of the route to the ending
futile is every clinging
unfulfilled is every longing

the best poem or the finest song
its essence is over  after the reading and hearing
life's every delight or dismay, right or wrong
will be buried in ruins, beyond remembering.

I know so well my heart
has broken pieces--many indeed-
much did I struggle to find
but never did succeed

Here there's a Brutus
which among us?

Buds we are--the poetic type
waiting for flowering
if the climate is not right
such might not be forthcoming

yet,  nothing shall hold back
the words and feelings overpowering
even if the sky were cast with darkest clouds
they would be pierced across through our writing.

The future is built
not by coercion or compulsion
the wise would know this-
only by persuasion and compassion

Download
upload
I'm at the end of the road-
UNLOAD!

Art of some sort
no doubt--it's the voice
of avant-garde creation
the posture
the body movement
the personality's articulation
the hip--twisting
the eyes -seducing
the lips' - inviting
the audience's kissing

the music all set
for crescendo
no missing this one
Ravel's Bolero
( no Bach, Mozart
or Beethoven
and Mahler--oh no!)

an exception
if among the audience
was eyeful Picasso
( he could paint anything
  he loved nudes--exceedingly so)

the dancers and musicians
had to be paid (it was strictly business)
and the wine and beer must ceaselessly flow

the best of the night
'soon to follow'
more fleshy postures
yet to show
' stay, you must stay
don't walk out
don't go'

the day was wearisome
the boss Mr Cockburn was a bore
the wife nagged too much
the kids were growing fast
attention they demanded
more and more
('but dough
doesn't on trees grow!)

tomorrow--hateful tomorrow
the same chagrin
the dreadfully slow
traffic flow

bills to settle
(tonight's bills would clog
up the credit-card
finance was sorrow!)

the show
was soon over
staggering
to the 25 year old wagon
'where's the key-hole?
can't see the **** thing!'

drove too fast
caught by
that fat and ugly cop
' Drunk and over-speeding
here's ticket--$500 fine!'

all for a night
at a burlesque
this wretched life
of mine!

The past is still
much business unfinished
buried but alive
it wouldn't be dismissed-

scores to settle, words unsaid
vengeance, anger and hate have not diminished
the present pales in comparison
living is diseased!

Busy all the time
nothing worthwhile done
to inane moments succumb
while precious time takes its run.

But for denial
how many
would survive?

an inner fortress
built from deception
self-sanctified

reality is enemy
sharp is its teeth
too deeply it does bite

fair haven embedded
beyond the world's sight
the safest place to hide.

....but for you

life would be a mere vacuum

   every day I'd wither in thirst-

happiness would have no room-



   in the wasteland of my heart

  flowers would gladly bloom

  as its sterile surface you generously water

and a new life I'd miraculously assume

You said
'But surely'
I'll be out
all I know is uncertainty

You keep your
'but surely'
all I know
is uncertainty

Our home-party
ran short of cups
rushed to our garden
to gather butter-cups!

Butterfly said
to moth:
we can both fly
but you I'd rather be not!




NB:
How do butterflies and moths fly? Butterflies and moths have strong muscles in their thorax which force their wings up and down on a fulcrum basis. They actually go in a slanted figure 8 motion that propels them forward through the air in the same principle as an airplane (Quote)

It's not the spring season yet
the winter-ending snow
still falls though in slow
and weak tiny droplets
each like a gentle reminder
nature has its own course
to follow
(there's no cause for rush
winter's story is not over)--

the night somehow
seems longer, and weaker
are the moon and stars-
the leaves they quiver
and the trees by the deserted shore
by the winds are tossed
forward and backward
frantically to and fro
while the tides
they intermittently roar-

the heart is restless and anxious
in waiting--each moment seems
longer than years, so cruel and vexatious
but patience and faith is tested and called for-

love should not question
it must stay strong
whatever the season
however sad its drawn-out song-

amidst life's turbulent throng
the heart should rest steadfast
love should overcome every storm
through all episodes of tears outlast-

but the time shall come
when winter its last leaves
will have been cast
the grass will revive
flowers will begin to bud
branches will stretch out
in vigour to reach the sun
frost will melt away
from the stream which will rush
to welcome thirsty birds around
all nature will be a-flush
with the brightness
of light and colour
with warm- spreading glades
and dance with the musical sound
of life born anew--all in consonance
with the heart blessed in contentment-

the time has come
spring has blossomed
love has waited
but such glory
it has won.

But those were the days
when all of us wrote
love-letters. Week-ends
were thus consumed
never mind the school homework
it could wait. How to choose
the words that would win her over?
- I quoted Shakespeare's
  Shall I compare thee to a summer day?...
  that red letter-box was symbol
  of my boyish hope. She would reply or most likely I can't say for sure. Who knows a pretty girl 's heart when all the boys in school were trying to attract her attention? Lily was crowned the Beauty Queen this year and her dad is rich. They live in a mansion with a swimming-pool, have three cars and four servants and she wears a Rolex. The boys say she's playing the game of hard-to-get.

I met her once after a school-concert during which I performed Tossellis's Serenata on the violin. She approached me and said I love that song very much. I play it on the piano often at home. One day we should do a duet. A brief meeting and since I've fallen in love with her I think.

I've just written this letter suggesting we meet. Have read it six times and can memorise every word. Have been having sleepless nights.

Will she reply?

But time I'll bend
it would have no say
when it knocks on my door-
I'll shove it away--

I'm a free man, never at the behest
of minutes or hours of the day
life is not for mechanical calibration
I'm my own master, I'll hold time at bay.

You asked me
the water to enter
but never said
there it was terror
with crocs and sharks
a fool I was in error
you I saw from the river
whistling and singing
as though my act
to you was great humour!

Every flower, even the humblest
has its own charm and beauty
call it by any name
you can't diminish its glory