Life-
the common river
but each sails alone
with none other

Life-
so many regard as the sorrowful river
it flows to the endless sea
to its past it returns never

Life-
isn't it an unknown river?
every life is ****** upon it
'why'?  one does wonder.

Life--
blessed if you find it a river
of splendour---harness then all your resources-
thus self-assured---you would never fall over.

All sailing boats
will at the end arrive at shore
patience and endurance
is the guiding wind--the storms will buffet no more.

Many a sea I have sailed
and shed every lonely tear
but I am a man larger than the sea
in my aloneness I conquered every single fear.

Maples in red and deep yellow
It's end of Australian autumn
Birds fly to warmer skies
Nights are sombre and solemn.

I look through the window
Waiting for your quick return--all I hear
Is but the faint rustling of leaves
And the wailing of the wind--where are you, my sweetest dear?

I always stay safe within the law
Would really be worried if outside the law
But that which tyrannises*  and irks me most is this 'law'-
My mother-in-law.

Enough, it's enough
too much I've said
there's lacuna in words
which often little light does shed--

how sweet and soothing
when silence does descend
its stills the mind and heart
over everything else it does transcend.

Poetry is a mirror of our soul but also a window to the outside world---that which is external and tangible--neither is complete without the other
but it's only the inner side of us that understands the deeper meaning of life and all things.  It's strange but true---the intangible is mysterious, profound and has power and resources latent within us--most of which we aren't even aware---until kindled and brought to light by the muse of poetry.  Then a clear light dawns upon us and we begin to see and understand things better.  The 'physical we' is, in my view,  of lesser significance than the 'abstract we' or should I say the 'essential we'?---that which can be seen, handled or articulated is only the periphery of truth and things but not the core--we are larger than what we think  but we don't grasp this as we are lost in the banality and humdrum of daily life--we are walking shadows rather than light and fall short of our real potential. Talking of language and music, Felix Mendelssohn wrote (my paraphrase):
words mean less to me than music and it's music that speaks clearer to me.
        All said, man is a mystery as life is but they intersect--at every point.

This is the tapestry of my soul
sewed in  sweat, trials and tears
each stitch a reminder of the vanished past when every episode
stood as a testament of life's most tempestuous years

but  I've resurrected from the ruins
of time and every scene I survey  now with serenity
even in the darkest of night
the brightest of light illuminates from my treasured tapestry.