' I don't know, Grandpa'  I said
   he chuckled: '  That's great--knowing is absurd!'

Peace and happiness is not given
      it has to be self-driven

Beware that your confidence
doesn't lead to arrogance.

You might go about
but beware of the influence of the crowd

Many are  talented
and smart
but succeed not-
they lack the persuasion- art.

Don't aspire to be the best
  just don't fall too behind the rest

Your parents can't do everything for you
      they pave the way---you have to work yourself through

Just because someone is your best friend
doesn't make him a good person
you may have him in your heart
but should never give up your reason

A person bceomes smart
when he learns to work hard

Show gratitude
   it's the finest attribute

This is maturity if you've learnt to accept:
   many, many times you would be let down
   (  people are selfish and good doesn't abound)
  in myriad circumstances-- somewhere, somehow

Be absolutely sure
before you volunteer

Grant me not intelligence
but resilience

Give me a poem
  read me a poem
I'm sinking
I'm dying
come, come my way
soon it'll be end of day
bless me, oh bless me
with the balm of poetry
I'll close my eyes-gladly
as I drift to the welcoming eternity.

It might not be
the best landing-place
but be grateful
if it contains some grace

Ordinary white paper is by nature so thin
    but human gratitude is even more slim

I was dying of thirst
we had never met
you offered me your last drops
of water--how could I ever forget?

It calls for the greatest wit
to know the right time to quit.

GREAT JOYS IN SMALL THINGS
Why would you prefer
your joys to be loud
as fire-crackers
in the market-place and have spectators shout

'Watch and listen, here is someone who has joys to show!'?
let your joys be silent
temperate as a gentle noon- day
happy is the heart which is content

Why should one display
that which is best kept
to oneself? to preserve and treasure
that which is beauty-wrapped

to last till the end of time
(how brief are those publicly-demonstrated one-day joys-
grand pageantry, pomp and circumstance
by the night to languish away as spoils)

Great joys follow those
with hearts simple and pure
drawn to the sweetness of flowers
and fair nature's every lure

Don't you see the glitter
of joy in the innocent child's eyes?
don't you feel the wonder
of a poem or a song that life beautifies

I am thankful for every small joy
it's the greatest gift that has been bestowed on me
in a silent and peaceful corner I dwell
counting my blessings--happy in simplicity.

Meet me not
in these grey winter years
enough have we spoken
words would lethally pierce

our hearts-- silence is never so dear-
this is not the time for regretful tears
love's last petals have fallen on the frozen snow
sentiments that are dead no longer harbour fears.

GROPING AMONG SHADOWS

We all ***** among shadows
but whose—ours or others’?
can we tell to whom such belong-
angels’ or monsters’?

more real than self itself
the unconscious wrestles with the ego
we pride our knowledge
but indeed so little of ourselves we really know

what makes us what we are?
where is the fountain of our self-knowing?
are we the real we in our waking
or in our dreaming?

should we be afraid of our own shadows?
how do we make them disappear?
but how could I disassociate with my alter ego
when it never goes away-even as I am writing it’s here!

It's not about
outgrowing myself
I would rather cultivate
my in-growing
within the garden
of my heart.  The dry
part has to be watered
the weeds have over-grown
they have to be discarded
leaves have browned and withered
many decaying on the sod
so long left neglected
the fence has fallen
(how dismal it looks
in the autumn rain!)
if I look away in indifference
that which I once loved
would die in the direst pain-

do I have the will
and when should I start?
the sun is at midpoint
soon it would be evening
and then follows the dark

the tools are waiting
myself I am testing
now I must embark
this shall be my redeeming.

Dear child, you can happily read or look
but you will not draw or scribble--listen to me
know that this is not YOUR book
but that which your mum has borrowed from the library.

With the child
it takes time to grow
but much longer
for the adult to be so

The little I have
is not grub
it inspires me
to keep my spirit up!

I shouldn't grumble
I am the cause of my own trouble.

GUISE
                (From a betrayed woman's diary)

How many faces does guise have?
and I know you have mastered this art
through numerous applications-
you calibrate your part
(before meeting your target)
how you should look
what clothes to wear and how to smile
you can memorise all this straight from the book
how many hearts have you stolen
and broken?
pity those who to your sweet voice did harken
how many did suffer from your guise, you reckon?

but life is a pendulum
it can't swing every time in your favour
the day of doom would fall upon you
you would fall on your own sword- you wicked philanderer!

John, don't say H2O to my mother
she is a simple and plain person--just say 'water'

Did the habit pattern first appear
not from reason but feeling?
the person created his comfort zone
mindless that it would be his undoing?

The heart is a lonely habitat
its owner is seldom home
blinded and distracted
it ceases never to roam-

wayfarer in a strange land
stranded on some faraway shore
where the local language it doesn't understand
it is no longer home- desired any more

If you can learn
to ha ha and hi hi
from many ailments
you would be free.

By the silent lake
kids lined up their paper-boats
under the bright sun

Old man in the train
with torn shirt and ***** shoes
smelt like fisherman

Little house on hill
doors and windows always locked
birds settle on top

Dark Evening clouds
shedding last light on water
an eagle fies by

Snow-capped Mount Fuji
     waiting for spring to appear
     it has to be patient

Last evening rays
reflected on calm water
fisherman heads home

Waves beat ******* shore
frightened birds take to the sky
sudden lightning flash

Lonely house on hill
      closed windows the whole year round
      mystery surrounds

Old village stone-wall
moss and creepers all over
who was the builder?

Autumn's last few days
leaves silently fall on ground
flight of birds homewards

Mist in the valley
morning is about to break
an eagle flies by

Birdie fell from nest
mother rushed to grassy ground
relief--it was safe!

Coo, coo, coo, coo, coo
   fowls rushed for their morning feed
   farmer picked up eggs

Old country cottage
nestled in gentle forest
none knows who lives there

Haiku is impressionistic music in words

Early morning light
beaming on wet dew in field
flight of early birds

Silent flowing stream
kissed by gentle morning light
lush green field beside

Snow on Mount Fuji
fleet of white birds fly over
dawn has not broken

wetland faraway
lonely stork pecks on soft sand
a wolf watches by