My poetry is not roses
each stanza bears a thorn
for love I don't queue
to melancholy I was born.

The wilderness is my very heart
there no flowers are sown
the desert knows my desolation
if I've tears, I'll weep alone.

They are unhappy
they rail against fate
love has abandoned them
now they turn to hate.

  The heart is ever restless
   it lives in eagerness to celebrate
   too soon it walks away from its search
   if only it has learnt how to wait.

But life (few do realise)
is a trickster
they try to bribe it
it answers never

those we triumph
they don't beg nor barter
my poetry tames the waywardness
of life as I'm stronger and tougher.

Writing for fame
to be remembered?
not me. My poems
in dust are covered

hidden in jars
on the table and in cabinet  
they rest. What did I write
yesterday? Oh, I forget!

The beyond I hold
more beautiful than the here
that which is mysterious and intangible
to my heart is more dear

too many they dread
to look into the mist-they fear
the unknown, imprisoned in the now
the familiar they prefer.

They say to me
' You seem unhappy'
   do they really know?
   they just fancy

   for neutral I stand
   what if I were sad or happy?
    joys are short-lived
    does it really matter in what condition I might be?

Trapped in time
and melancholy
a stranger to earth
I seem to be-

I don't doubt as I know
there's a dimension beyond mortality
  I'm on trial and being tested
  nothing belongs to me but my poetry.

Is my poetry
hymnal?
of life's another dimension
I write.
my poems are ethereal
there's untold beauty
beyond
revealed to me like a mystery

no convincing do I need
I default if I were to doubt
for earth is temporality

here's but the sighs
the intense fever
the heart quivers
the restlessness
the endless misery
the turbulent sea
the human boat
on a ruinous journey

I believe
and uphold
the Light
I embrace
that Magnificence
I'm saved
by Grace
my humility
becomes my transcendence

even when all strength
has abandoned me
and I can no longer write
my faith shall falter not
as I gently walk
into the eternal night.

For a while, today
just for today
home I'll not stay
and from myself I'll walk away-

my cloistered self--with none
I share--- what I'm my verses convey-
love and faith I deny--- when all's said and done
my life is empty and my days are grey.

My heart doesn't wander
in careless search of love
but I've never been
a love-smotherer

solitude I hug
like none other
while love vacillates
my aloneness survives every weather.

Engaging my heart
with others? It seems
too burdensome and hard
sadness itself I've had too much-

moving away saves
on both sides many a heartbreak
a single boat in the stream
impedes no other. For the sake

of individual freedom
I prefer to live alone
nature is never obtrusive
seeds of contentment it has sown

in the garden of my heart
how sweet, how tender
is her voice.  With her I engage
bliss it is. I need no other.

Don't bother, my friend
to visit, just write when you will
here's my thankful letter
the night is cold and still--

don't let my lonesome words
affect you---life offers me a misery-pill
I swallow it without regret or fear
often I wished it would ****.

I hate to give
love a bad name
I shy away
by choice not of shame-

how could a rose
ever blow the same?
lovers I envy not
as they play their unsure game.

The long-drawn summer hours
how they oppress my spirit
I long for the soberness of autumn
as I weary and despondent in my kitchen sit--

among the loud, ambitious and smart
I can't mix---I don't have their wit
the moon and stars to me their stories unfold
I think my sympathy they seek to elicit.

Joys are rare
they deceive
time is a liar
and a thief--

yet to the thin thread
of life I hold though with no relief
the hills are dark and tonight they brood
I've nothing to long for or believe.

I'll not write tonight
heavy is my soul
like the dying star
I couldn't be made whole--

I'm falling, crumbling, sinking
drowning, hard of breathing
as that lone star makes its descending
I'll embrace it and gladly celebrate my dying.

Earth is temporal
there's a life beyond
living is an illusion
dying ushers in the dawn-

the impure and imperfect
all that's blemished shall be gone
eternity shines its light
on the believing--they shall be reborn.

Secrets does night hold
its mysteries can't be ever told
the heart in melancholy weeps
lovers find it hard to sleep--

these dark hours are long
there's no comfort in verse or song
what's in store at the dawn
when tonight's shadows are gone?

Rest, oh rest so sublime

as night drifts into the unknown

forgotten is weary time

this, the sojourn alone--



light, oh light so calm

all darkness on swift wings has flown

ah, sleep so welcome--  the sweetest balm

what the living have never ever  known

How could you ever lose
when your mind cares not to choose?

Pale leaves fall silently in the dead of winter
I realise I have lived far too long
I was once a bold and outgoing singer
but no longer has life left me any single song-

in the night's thickest snow I wander
the heartless winds they blow loud and strong
tears of forlorn love on icy rocks they flounder
in this chilling hour I weep,  to none do I belong

Age might not be the splendour of beauty

     there's grace and charm still to be cherished

     proud youth dwelt in self-absorbed  folly

     only in the ruins of time to be sadly banished

My love, as you lie on your bed
the first morning rose I'll pick--upon
your gentle hair to deck
ere the day's sunshine is gone

When the tides run low and wavelets have perished
and the sky is sullen and has lost its glorious shine
when every spring -flower in the meadow has vanished
and love's once-blissful kisses are no longer mine-

I remember that bitter winter day
you walked away and stole my every smile
all my dreams and hopes they did all at once decay
'twas then I first learned of love's cruel sting and mindless wile.

Our over-statement

could be our dumbest moment

The highest prize

does genius pay

the self it does antagonise

torture is the order of the day

In the cradle of the universe
sits my soul.  I'll sing my song
that will vibrate through space-
the moon and stars shall bend
to hear its every jubilant note
the clouds shall scatter its splendour
like petals over the surface
of the earth---every life
every living thing, every voice,
every heart blends in the silent mystery
of oneness--this is the quintessence
of existence--words--they are the mouth-piece
of a Higher Being that resides
within every man and woman
I am every man
I am every woman
I am all things
that breathe
that dares to reach out
for the beyond--
we are not of separate parts
but leaves on the same tree
with common roots
that first gave us life
for this is a tree
that is anchored
in timelessness
beyond age
and decay--

I would die
happy
even as a blade
of grass, a patch of ****
or a tiny little flower
in some unknown field

to regrow
in a season to come

We are slothful and complacent
thinking is too much pain
we'll travel with others in the    common wagon
instead of being against the grain--

the initial ride was joyous
the experience seemed so sane
towards the near end the wagon fell apart
we were broken and never the same again.

..and such are moments
in life that leave you agape
the world is shrouded in grey
and the day's landscape is out of shape-

friendship suddenly turns silent
in strange garments it does drape
love does not keep its appointment
the heart is in lockdown and can't escape

How austere and grim
it would seem
the stone-walls are saying:
'memento mori'
as one unobtrusively
walks by -and further
'  I don't need any company'-

  stones have hearts too
  if you could believe me-

time has made them weary
they have witnessed and heard
too many a human story
once tears they did shed
for frail and sad humanity
but their hearts have hardened
seared by man's inhumanity-

some villagers vowed
they had heard
at midlight's depth
voices from the hill
where the stone-walls stood
as though in muted sobbing
at hours so solemnly still--

I walk nearby
past midnight
but that path
I would not tread
not out of dread
but in silent respect
as I well know
the stones want
to be left alone
not to be engaged
or met.

I have no agenda
I don't induce
persuade, provoke
or incite. Billions
of words are written
every day and more
are spread and spoken-
I've nothing much to say
I merely search my heart. Faraway
from the debating forum
I look, listen and stay. Enough it is
for the world welters in the inundated sea of verbiage. Of hearing I'm  weary and my heart is heavy--the onslaught is killing me.

Ours is the age that has lost its innocence. It has eyes but cannot see. Its heart it has discarded and it cannot feel. Its voice is chocked in vengeance and anger on which it feeds. It knows not it has died a moral and ignominious death and is still insisting to be heard in the public square.

Agenda.
The word I fear
and to it I'd never draw near.

I should not labour
nor squeeze words
by their throat-
coercion is the death
of writing-- self-defeating
totally blind and absurd

with them I'll embark upon
a gentle dialogue
no damage would there be
nor unwanted shock

each an entity of their own
in uniqueness and trait
mutual respect is the route
to fruitful understanding's gate

humble and patient I will be
together we will celebrate
the outcome of a poem
that would beauty and ingratiate.

A GIFT OF OLD AGE

If old age does a gift on me bestow
it would be just: silence
in my youngish and manhood years
I had exhausted every single sentence

erroneously borrowed from writers,
from professors, friends, the clergy,
leaders, politicians, loud-mouths,
fanatics and extremists ( I didn't know then)--an endless litany

and I discover much too late
truth is only a word thrown about
for the convenience of the speakers
the stronger their conviction, the louder they shout

as they have all the answers
' you don't know-- you out
there---it's about time you followed us
we'll rid you of every doubt'

how I detest slogans now
pontifications are the death of me
I am lost for words--silence I choose--
myself I blame for my past stupidity

soon,  too soon I'll be walking
to life's terminus--near, so near-
with a tiny signboard ' finis'
I'll be quiet and calm --without a single doubt or fear.

It's a good day
when no one mentions
my name in any way

Should I indoor stay
or should I go out?
it's a lustrous spring-day
that's not in any doubt--

the words knocked and they won't go away
first they gently pleaded and then began to shout:
don't you leave--the world outside will lead you astray
your poem will perish amidst the cacophonous crowd!

How could I bite you, Henry, tell me?
I have no tooth--- you are ridiculously silly!

Grant me the gift of small words
that I might speak in simplicity
then my heart will smile and bend towards
their tender beauty and clarity.

Forbid that I should ever plead
for the loud, grandiose and ornate vocabulary
my voice would but choke and die
in that tainted and blemished artificiality.

Alas!
how many did such utter
at last!

Late autumn
just a fallen yellow leaf
why do you stop
to look-- then reluctantly leave?

A leap in the dark
don't, it's dangerous
even by the spark
of day---quite ridiculous!

This I must master:
   never complain
   none likes the grumbler
   who's a bagful of grievous pain.

Dear Peter,

But you are a peaceful person
while I have never been-
my extreme tendencies,  while they have given me strength and courage to be what I am,
are also the cause of my unpleasantness, my peremptoriness and my rudeness--also crudeness and sometimes, insensitivity.
I don't enjoy it but just as a dog has a tail, I am stuck to what's in me and what I am.
Cutting the tail off? You might as well **** the dog!
Cut half of it?  The animal would never be the same again-
it has lost its pride, dignity and disparate self!  Its existence would have no meaning, it would count no more but would rather perish.

I don't compromise or, even if I do, it's a reserved and partly insincere compromise-
in short, not only do I have more faults than others
but, more importantly, they are enormous  in size and proportion
and are damaging sometimes.

Yet strangely,  there are some who like my accompany
but perhaps more who would keep their distance.
I don't blame the latter--they are right in their judgement and perception.

You might ask: are you happy being ruled by extremities?

My answer: I can't help it and I can't say I'm unhappy on account of this--my ugly blemish.

However you might interpret,  it's that you had seen me as a young man of 20 in 1960?
and have the chance now to compare that person with a very old man who is turning 78 this year.

My last word: I don't hate myself for my faults--whatever good that I have done, it's up to my family
to decide. But I know they would be biased.

These are my last 5, 7, 8 and at most, perhaps 10 years--I would waste no time
to do what I must, free and unencumbered, letting the world and people go by in their own  way--which means so little to me
(as I have to think of my self-interest first) and then fade away, hopefully without pain and with calm acceptance,
into the night to which I would return no more.  'Someday it would be good to die…', from a poem of Christina Rossetti whose poetry
has inspired several of mine.

Be of good cheer--you have a wonderful family and are already blessed.

Your unpopular friend
M.S  
dated 1st January 2018

Dear Mr Lim
Your chances of being published
are very slim

Signed
Poetry editor April 19th 2019

I like innocent mischief

        it offers so much daily relief

        of numb reason I take leave

        taking things too seriously is endless grief

I will never want to be winner
if that results in someone being a loser

A little knowledge is a fine thing

  if it allows you to live with meaning

Give me only a little love
tender, true and that's all
I need and ask for--the star
sheds its best glow though so small-

give me only a little love
I'll grow more strong and tall
the beauty that thrives in the tiny rose
captures every eye and ceases never to enthral.

Time will tell on me

  myself I can't hide

  not blessed by any beauty

  only in simplicity abide--



  I won't write my life-story

that would merely be pride

what would make me truly happy

is to set all my life's trivia aside

Coming to the end of life, many would wish for a start the second time but sadly this is denied as it's no longer possible.

Vulnerable I am in old age
but will not supplicate or weep
life has to be lived or endured
faith I will keep--

people should not pray
only in their hour of need
religion should find expression
in every thought, word and deed-

acceptance is the greatest wisdom
courage is but of short stay
in the face of every adversity
the enlightened person does not walk away-

if  in this climate I were placed last
in the queue of salvation-- I will readily accept
without rancour, blame or complaint
grateful to be in patience and humility kept.