(Solitary Chamber. Heart breaking melodious music is flowing silently. Young Ren is looking pale, soliloquizing.)

Young Ren:  Sweet Flance!
                     Can you hear me?
                     I do know you can never see me now;
                     But hear me --- my words at least!

Feel my heart that hangs on nothing;
Yet resting itself on my unrequited love.
  
                     Hear me! Do hear me!

Send thy spirit unto me awhile,
And hearken my silent words.

                     Dear Flance!
Thou must be now with thy partner
Breaking thy footprints with me once;
Yet ne'er am I angry with thee.
From him I should not take thee away;
Yet listen unto me awhile.

                      Dear Flance!

I loved thee not at the very first sight
Like Orlando and Rosalind ---
Orlando was a wrestler,
Rosalind was a fair lady.

Their love began at an arena in a contest ---
Rosalind in the guise of Ganymede,
Their love passed thro' rustic lands
Symbolizing the art of Nature,
Their love stirred the young hearts
With wonder and fancy.

Sweet Flance!
                       Romeo died of Juliet and Juliet of Romeo ---
                        Breaking endurance to chaos.
                       There was poison in their love.
Dear Flance!
                       Jealousy lingered in the fatal love
                       Betwixt Othello and Desdemona,
                       At night their love was born,
                       At night their love was dead
                       When blackened by the candle light.
Dear Flance!
                        Lysander loved Hermia
                        And sought fanciful beings
                        For their fanciful union.
Dear Flance!
                       Know you, Keats died of consumption?
                      His love for ***** Brown was limitless,
                      And so burst into tears.
                      Oh! No!
                     MY love for thee can never have comparisons.
Sweet Flance!
                     Blossomed my love for thee
                    When thou wert young,
                     When thou wert beautiful;
                     Yet it's not of Romeo's,
                     Of Othello's,
                     Of Lysander's,
                     Of Dante's,
                     Of Keats',
                     For they died of their love.





My love for thee be unrequited; yet ineffable.
You felt not my love; yet I cannot be Romeo.
Know you?
                Romeo loved Juliet,
                Juliet loved Romeo,
                And so they died without love.
Loved I thy heart, not thee?
Love I thy heart, not thee?
And so,
             We live in remembrance of each other.
Dear Flance!  
              Thou must be now living with thy partner
               Rejoicing in his presence.
               Can you think of me living myself.
               Rejoicing in my thoughts of you?
               Here am I in the air with wings waxed;
              Yet I'll not fall down to fragments.

              Know you?  
              I am to lead my life myself,
              But with thoughts of you!

              For
                    Loved I thee, still I love thee,
                                           Ever I'll love thee.

(Young Ren sheds tears)

Sweet Flance!

My tears are not of my loneliness sans thee;
But born of bliss within me with thoughts of you.

              (Curtain  Falls)

Nature decked with white snow,
Everywhere there is purity and serenity,
Water is icy cold looking like white sheets of paper,
White clouds play with white snow,
Mountains are capped with snowy wreaths,
Trees and their leaves are dressed with white garments,
Wintry seeds lay across hidden beneath the white snow,
Sheep and cattle play winter games,
Boys and girls scramble through snowy homes,
Men and women watch their kids play in joy.
It is winter that makes everyone cool and cold.

I was a mason and am meant for daily wages,
With me are helpers, young, old, men and women,
And we are the builders, but we do not own the building.
Yet, we own the building till the last patch of the masonry.
We sleep in the storey; dry our clothes, cook our food;
We scatter our belongings and we rule the building a while.
People think we’re just masons, but we’re the kings of the construction.

They say it’s their home or shop to make money for their ‘statuses,
But who is the owner of the property,
And no one on earth is the owner of anything.

On morning we brush our teeth; clean our bowels;
We clean our body; we fill our bowels;
And we take our tools to break and cement the walls.
The sun sets that we shall crawl to our beds,
And our body twisted to stretch out from pain.

Every day we the kings till the last patch of our work,
And no one questions our stay under the roof.
We shall permit even the ‘owner’ of the roof.

We become ‘untouchable’ after our last stroke.
We make them ‘comfortable’ for their stay with our sweat,
And they threw coins at our sweat.

Yet we have not lost our kingship, for we shall regain it
When we’re called for another construction.
We’re happy with our kingship ‘cause we are kings of many homes,
But they ‘own’ a bit of the land.

None on earth is the owner of the land,
For HE Who hath created it is its Owner,
And we’re HIS tenants staying a while,
And we play gimmicks to mimic the outrageous traitor,
And the traitor is the law-breaker, who counteracts the Creator,
But in vain he brandishes his sword against the Mighty.

The Great Flood swallowed up the dark hosts and guests,
They had played havoc to His holy Sanctuary:
Pigs and snakes had their ransom set at stake,
Mimicry and mockery of His Plan had played rampant,
They had believed in the knowledge of wealth and pleasures,
They had stamped the wisdom from Above,
They had swallowed the poison of the forbidden fruit,
And had shrouded themselves with the attire of the serpent.
But the Great Flood buried them with their wealth and pleasures;
Yet the chosen ones were left in the Ark of Christ.

The serpent propped his head with venom on earth,
And he laid the red carpet on the way of mankind.
He crowned mankind with knowledge and philosophies,
And man multiplied his generation with multiple deformities.
He broke the Chain of Heaven and built chasm with the serpent.

‘Let us build a tower of protection from a great flood,
And shake the scepter of Heaven WHO shook our wealth and pleasures,
Let us call our king of the chasm and teach a lesson to Heaven.
Let us be united with one tongue to combat the Mighty Power,
Let our tongue be the whip of unity and take revenge ‘gainst HIM,
For He hath killed our ancestors who had strolled in wealth and pleasures.
Let us make the world ring into philosophies and superstition,
And found an empire on the logic of the skeptic ruler of earth,
Let us proclaim the tongue of the universe and rule the cosmos,
Let us make new creed and dogmas with the altar full of aroma.
The tower shall be the lasting umbrella beneath the flood of rains,
And we shall not be swallowed by the wrath of Heaven,
And He shall be ashamed of His act against His creatures.’

‘Let English rule the cosmos and reach the unreachable,
And all nations bind together with the knot of communication.
Let the Chinese prepare war; let the Japanese trigger robots;
Let the Europeans stroll in their obsolete glory;
Let the Africans brandish the swords made of bamboos;
Let the Indians realize ‘unity in diversity’.
We shall build an empire on English and bring unity,
And the cosmos shall utter the word of globalization,
And here, let us, believe in the strength on universality.
We shall reach the sky high above the clouds of rain
And rule the moisture and the breeze and save the earth from floods.’

They shoot arrows in the air in void and vain,
They shout of universality breaking the ties of individuality,
They remind the tower of Babel, and boast of their weakly strength,
They launch satellites and missiles and build the space centre.
They install the globalized lingua franca into computers,
They raise the flag of ‘victory’ and shout at laugh at ‘defeats’;
But they know not what victory and defeats are.
They land on the tower of Babel and brandish their swords,
They drown in the quagmire of sensuality and drink pleasure,
They build castles on the summit of terrorism.
The game of death hath begun, and every soul counts its days.
‘Where shall I go? What shall be unto me? What is the earth’s destiny?’
Questions arise from the deep of the deepest looking for answers.
The world studies mundane philosophies, but fails to understand the WORD:
‘Heaven and earth pass away, but MY Words never live from Eternity to Eternity.”

I’ve sought winds of poesy,
And I’m on wings to pen thee ---
Thou --- my Darling --- the Rose of roses.
Thou art seated centre of Glory
That hath sent thee unto us
On our arms long waited.
Thou livest in our tears of joy,
Ineffable and amazing unto eternity,
Thou art the most beautiful dawn
Decked with pearls of glory.
I celebrate thee on the Day of Thy advent
And my poesy doth make thee beautiful.
I believe my wings of poesy soar and soar
Until the sky sets its limit.
I’ll make thee live ever in my poem.
Believe in my wings of poesy.

I was to leave a while and I have to toil for her,
For it’s my duty destined by HIM as her father.

She lives with her mother, and I’m a little far away.
I lived with my daughter and our love is boundless:
She hugs me, and I too, and my ear- ends are her spongy toys,
She walks with me and I run with her,
And we play every day with love and affection,
She watches me dance, and I hug her child-like utterances.
We play together till the time to part arrives.

She shed tears when the time to part arrived,
And I drank her tears and studied her heart,
Her eyes pierced my heart and she longs for my presence ever;
But it’s destined will that I must toil for her life,
And I have to be a little away from her a while.

I carry her tears in my heart and let them flow meaningfully,
And anyone can read her tears of longing in my lays.

(For my Loving Daughter Suzanna Christy)

Seven years before her heart throbbed and mine too,
She was prepared to face to the world with God’s Gift:
Her travail had begun and each of her nerve shivered with thrill,
The Father in Christ in His invisible Presence hath been beside her.

Now I shed tears that speak how she had borne the physical agony,
And my inward eye writes how the day was and today it is.

The tiny blossom within the womb shook the stem of the plant,
And the plant stood fluttering, unshaken, but withstanding.
I now feel how I felt of her personal ordeal for matchless Gift.
God’s Answer in her womb, personified, traversed the way out,
The Invisible Christ held her in His arms during the journey,
It was the journey that none can describe except the Answer in the womb.
Biological apprehensions began to fly out with anguishing threats;
Yet the Heavenly Providence filled the way with His Grace.
Medical engineers acted upon their wit and tools to watch the drama.
The God-sent soul, anxious and hopeful, waited for the little wonder:
‘How could God’s Answer personified be?’
Time was on its wings, minutes flew, seconds galloped.
Engineers’ assistants exchanged responses of sincerity and hopefulness.
The little Answer personified whispered from within the Heavenly Mercy.
Everyone heard the whisper, and the mother too, and she would be a mother.

The clock was in its perfection to chime the melody of the Answer,
And the whole world, dressed in joy and smile, looked in awe and wonder.
It was forty strokes behind the entry of the little Answer:
How could I share my joy and with whom?’
The mother raised a doubt within her.
‘I am with thee, share thy joy and pain with Me,
For I have borne everything for thee on the Cross.’
She heard a voice within and the pain left her,
Joy let its wings fly when the little Answer peeped out the world.
It was seven strokes yet to chime.
Each second was a mystery and the mystery was to be solved.
The trumpet raised its clarion call; the lyre touched its strings,
The firmament, filled with Heavenly Blessings, began to shower on.
The little Answer personified sent forth her first cry,
And the cry was first heard by the Master.
Yes, she was born, and she entered the world.
It was fifty-two strokes past three whistles she was born.
Little fairies began blowing little trumpets,
The mother shouted in joy: ‘THANKS TO MY LORD!
Our answer hath been heard. Thou art my Master.’