Some make love
others break
just one word
sweetest joy or untold heart-ache

but those who love
should not fear and those who fear
should not love---too often
love is never free from a tear.

I had a dream
time spoke to me -woefully
'  My youth has fled too quickly
all that's left now is but melancholy

having witnessed too much of mankind
and its inhumanity
love and beauty has vanished
hearts are lost and empty-

I'm getting old
I'm weary
people come and go
but I'm chained to eternity

and there's no respite
no longer can I live in this endless monotony
even the sweetest songs lose their glory
when over-sung----none would shower me

with any sympathy
there is no consolation in my tears
I'm the oldest of the old
but I can't rest or die --years

after years after years
still I'm bound by duty
my suffering is deeper than any mortal's--
because of my deathlessness I can never be set free'.

Even tears
    do not know
    the depth
    of their own sorrow-

    will each tear cause
    a flower to grow
    from the dusts and ashes
    of the heart - perhaps tomorrow?

We are all stuck in time-
to such we have no remedy
life is a clinging-on---an endless waiting
hoping, desiring---what would the next moment be?

With time we wrestle
it's either too slow or too fast-
the present becomes the future
would it be as what had been in the past?

This is the road you have too frequently travelled
it excites and delights you no more
a total stranger walks by for the first time
and marvels: 'Such beauty I've never seen before!'

Have you forgotten when you first fell in love
and the person you would have given your life to adore?
blame not time nor circumstance---the beauty of the past
has not changed--- you've walked away and you have yourself to deplore.

In your craving for that
you would die in your pursuit
once gratified
your desire's taste-bud takes another route.

A thousand flowers in the field
they cloud and blind the eyes
the little pretty rose hidden in an unknown path
view that as your most precious prize.

How can I be my own accuser?

Love your neighbour as yourself.
But I can't---I'm not a saint.

The truth is that we never admit
the untruth within our own selves.

We judge others so as to feel better
about our own failings and faults.

Everyone says this:
"I'll be true to myself'.

This begs the question:
'Is this possible?'

The mind asks:
'What is love?'
The heart answers:
' What a stupid question!'

The mind says:  my life is logic
              the heart says:    reason plays too many a trick

The mind can't understand why
       the heart is dancing even in the rain

The mind asks questions over and over again
the heart knows the answers without having to undergo such pain

The mind is only a country,
the heart is a whole continent

The wise man gains his wisdom through his doubts.

I live in two separate worlds-
the inner and external--
they are seldom in congruence.
I have to find the right balance  to live successfully.

I exist to serve myself, not others.
But for my selfishness, I wouldn't have survived.

I must be served first--let others wait.

We invent dreams to drown our inner dissatisfaction and discontent.

Action in many cases
causes more problems that it seeks to solve.
Inaction is often wise.

We seem to be the product
more of moods than reason

The world existed precisely at the moment
I was there.
It was to engage me for the rest of my life.

The mind reasons
but the heart understands.

The world  is but my perception-
beyond that nothing exists.
That my perception is totally wrong makes no difference.

We are not made for death
those who live well do not die
we are made to be larger than ourselves
we are supermen and super-women -- death we deny.

We are made to live
and living is all that which does matter
never mind the pain and care not for relief-
he who conquers himself is the ultimate victor.

Love is not enough
its passage stretches well beyond time
it's but ( mostly so) a shaky start
too soon to call it sublime--

tears must fall and hearts must break
the dreams of lovers are not served on a golden plate
arid lands have to be traversed, wild rivers have to be crossed
before love can sit back, rest, smile and celebrate.

From ourselves
we can't escape
desires and unrests lurk within us
they fester--each has its own theme and shape-

what
a great burden
it is
to be human

the self is imprisoned
and freedom loses its wings
thoughts multiply by the minute
life is just things after things

mostly senseless and inane
as though to ennui we are born
behind many a smile is repressed sadness
life is full of so many a thorn

that callously ****** the flesh
how painful is the cry
of self---how burdensome
are we unto ourselves--we live with sigh after sigh.

In the sombre night
love-songs weep
desires of the lonely heart
know no sleep.

All love is a song
however sad it's still ever deep
I'll come tonight to sing for you
every past promise I'll faithfully keep.

I can't say to life:
This or that I choose
it has no heart nor tears
it has no duty to give or refuse

and I stand alone
as events come and go
each without question I accept
with the unknown tide I  quietly follow.

This is my life- story
simply this--it's my every engagement
with destiny.

I'm a wrestler
in the boxing ring
only one of us would be victor-

it's an uneven fighting field
my opponent seems invincible
but I'm not the type to yield

nor do I to myself declare
enough is enough
no more could I bear--

to fight is hard, to walk away
is easy--but I'm no quitter
I stand undeterred--I am here to stay

and at my last hour
to the world I'll proclaim--
with endurance and love, destiny I'll overpower.

'  I know more than my dad--I live in the modern age'.
Before you address your dad,
Beware!

When you say to yourself:
'  I succeeded before and the next will be easy'
Beware!

You are euphoric and want to embrace the whole world-
this is your weakest and most vulnerable moment-
Beware!

A friend sought your intervention
as he had fallen out with a mutual friend -
Beware!

I need no introduction
to my own heart----it knows me
well enough but on many matters
it chooses to disagree

And declares its independence
'  You can't push me aside'  indignantly
'   Don't you ever forget---in your darkest hour
   I never abandoned you--it was I who set you free'.

I must go away
from myself--- life
should not hold me back
and I would have said farewell to strife

in my new
becoming
as illumination
is unfolding--

everything takes on
a new meaning
if I look and step away
from myself---experiencing

a fresh
dimension
a clear
vision

old roots must die
for new ones to spring
murky waters can be washed away
only when clean water is flowing

the voice
of the past
should be let
to rust

only the heart
that's free
can be
happy

letting go
of the self and its every trapping
is to flower
into my true being.

So little I've learnt
understood even less
what then is the value of knowledge
which seems to be futile and useless?

CREDO

Let me walk
behind everyone
let me hear them talk.

Much would I learn
from what has gone before
patiently I'll wait for my turn.

Then enough would
I've seen and heard
and felt the ongoing mood.

Being last in the queue I could
walk away unnoticed
if the air were foul and the crowd is up to no good.

Truth eluded you
as with unclean hands you came
your guile it too quickly sensed
you fell on your own sword with your devious game.

It shall not forgive you
for defiling its name
its doors it shuts in your face
what you will reap is but ignominy and shame.

Don't love me much
a little bit will do me fine
just say to me a few words--such-
'You'll always be mine'.

When you thought you had found the truth,
beware!

You want to tell the truth?
Beware!

Hate is the neighbour of love-
Beware!

You have some harsh words to say to your boss-
Beware!

Here
there
somewhere
anywhere
everywhere--

beware!

Words are traps-
beware!

The journey is never finished
life is an ever-flowing river
winding to the endless unknown sea
experience but offers glimpses---it never

does allow us to see the full light of things
poor bewildered mortals we are
searching, questioning, struggling
groping, agonising --however far

we've travelled and however much
has come our way-- dim always is the horizon
misty is the sky, the writing on the road-signs has faded
the dust falls into our eyes and reason

is but a crude and weak guide
this, this thought ( it dawned me suddenly) must be cherished:
all  that's worthy and beautiful has its abode
in the magnificence, grandeur and mystery of the unfinished.

Those guys--the intellectuals-
are bashers----they are bashing
words, ideas and philosophy to death
with their endless quibbling and quarrelling

but for me an uneducated peasant
all that I know and need to know is farming--
planting,  sowing,  tendering, nurturing and harvesting
the sun rising and setting--for a good season is all I'm hoping.