Slogans of exhortation---ubiquitous-
they baffle and frighten me
many are far-flung and iniquitous
from such I steer away to keep myself free.

I am no prophet, no seer
no leader nor teacher
a common man here
in a far-away corner

trying to make some sense
of my weary life--even managing
myself is such an immense
task--- slogans-throwing?-

that would be the greatest folly
when I was a lad, my parents said to me
'  Learn to be independent, love yourself properly'
how wise those words--I've kept them and avoided so many a misery.

MOON FLOWER
In my sleep last night
I found myself on the moon ,holding
a flower in my hand, and this it said me
'This flower is real--you are not dreaming'.

Lo , my love gave me the flower
before I went to bed
he left too soon
and tears I sadly shed

THE ETERNAL ENIGMA OF SELF

Does the self
truly does its own self understand?
does the owner's experience
a helping hand does lend?

Search in the vast firmament
delve into the deepest sea
explore every dark cave of the mind
traverse the coldest Arctic-the mystery

remains and shall never
its secrets unfold
the self is a lone wanderer
its true story can't be ever told.

And an old weary man here I am
only this path I must follow-
the self must perish to be reborn
to be free it must embrace The Tao of 'letting go'.

It's all written
in his face-
' Don't come a step nearer
this isn't your place'.

This is the age where all morality
and kindness have quickened to death
he's a stranger and I wanted then to say 'hello'
now I 'm glad to have saved my breath.

THREE CHEERS FOR MODERN LIVING
 
 Ah, what a life,  a dreadful life
Too much angst and too much strife
Credit card and mortgage bills
Piling as tall as the mountains and hills.

Better be a primitive man who was happier
In the cave or on the tree, never a money-worrier
Nature lets none down, food is for the picking
The river provides the water for drinking

The breezes provide the air-conditioning
Music is sent by the birds that are gladly singing
No cars, no problem parking
No supermarket-queuing

No upsets, no arguing
With the recalcitrant who are seeking
A quarrel with fists threatening
Isn't it a punishing?--this modern living

But I am not done yet with this writing
There's also the taxman who is watching .

Once long ago, there was the Great Wall of China
Much, much later--the Berlin Wall-- then
History is all about culture and walls
The artefacts of ingenious men.

You whom I hold dearest
Why has your heart built such an impregnable wall?
Could you but chip off one tiny brick for me to look in-
Though you said you never ever loved me at all.

So easy to remember
how hard to forget
the past is an unforgiving monster
with its trail of many a sorrow, blame and regret.

But life is a state of mind
an open road---you have the freedom of choice-
they live well---those who understand
life is a tale of both sorrows and joys.

How insatiate is the human heart
to endless temptations it does fall
abundance is still deemed lacking
it wants nothing that's less than all.

How hard to let go the past
how easy to attribute blame
so few do know the state of their minds
finding every reason to give life a bad name.

Don't meet me now-
You said: 'I'm not ready'
Well, let it be
I don't wish you to be unhappy.

Don't meet me now
Perhaps till the last star ceases to shine
Too soon I'll be in someone else's arms
She will say to you:  'Go away, he's forever mine!'

Farewell to the old
here is the new--
resolution, what resolution?
better the past year to review.

Was it like all years before
the senseless grind and inanity?
foolish mistakes, misgivings and moments wasted
the same boring episodes and company?

We made excuses and comforted ourselves
we said: 'There's time--it's always there
for us to lean upon--there are countless tomorrows'
we lived in default---we took things for granted--indeed, we didn't care.

Resolution, what resolution?
that would be a sign of weakness, failure or despair
what would 2017 and 2050 be like
if we were  fortunate enough to be there?

Time-an enigma-
does it travel too slow or too fast?
an invisible intrusion-sometimes we love and at other times
we hate-when its presence does upon us uninvitingly ******.

How long should I wait, my love?
how long would my affection last?
I am shivering in the cold night air
would you come ? your love--can I trust?

THE RELUCTANCE OF WORDS

Sometimes, nay, often- words shy away
I have to be patient and wait
I set aside all thoughts--hoping later
to find the gems and celebrate.

With words I live all our life
I learnt just a few as a child--enough then-
just a few simple words  brought such joy and delight
words have outgrown me since--now I have to woo them as a friend.

I am
I was
what would I be
tomorrow?

how would I exactly know?
but if I set the compass
of my heart in the right direction
I won't be lost--I'll somehow endure

It'll be the same me in most measure
but the scenario will not be
if love, faith and charity are with me
it would be a day I'll count happy

then follows the dawn after tomorrow
and I'll again face another day
I'll still stand steadfast and do what I should
I won't be lost and will never turn away.

Words to the writer
how rare a gift
even the sudden dawning of a single word
sparks the imagination and helps to lift

the spirit--and the poetic muse
awakes from its slumber
and like a bright light shows the way
out of the murky tunnel of uncertain thought--then splendour

takes over the writing scene---words
mysteriously conjoin and start to dance on blank paper
the poet becomes the composer
as the sweetest music flows from his heart's ardour

Isn't a poem a miracle?
isn't the poet blessed as the receiver
of gems more precious and dearer
than anything else? Through words he  becomes a lasting joy-bestower.

' Hell is other people'
Sartre's famous dictum
Someone else could say that of him
He would himself by an object of public odium.

What if he won the Nobel?
Every statement we should with circumspection read
Who says the wise have the final say?
Too often they confuse and mislead.

There's too much to know
there are too many people who are wise
and so many different things they each say
I am never sure what to believe--I surmise

absolutes there are none
and knowledge and wisdom* is relative-
points of view of the thinker--is he wrong or right?
I am never sure--we are dealing with the subjective.

How could I be sure
when doubts spring to my mind
all the time?  Beyond the daily demands
and realities all else I've to leave behind

for I am an ordinary man
the limits of what I know I clearly set
as I am never sure of anything at all
on unknowns and probabilities I don't bet

Merry Christmas, what merry Christmas?
What about the left-out destitute?
While food and wine go to waste
Millions upon millions live in hunger and solitude.

Merry Christmas, what merry Christmas?
The world leaders shamelessly shout 'Progress!'
The richer get richer, the poor--only poorer
Resources are getting less and less.

Merry Christmas, what merry Christmas?
Will the goodwill last when the season is done ?
It's the same sad story retold
Everything is forgotten--even good deeds, one by one.

Merry Christmas, what merry Christmas?
Think not just of festivity
Have a thought of lasting kindness
That would make the world a happier place to be.

FANTASY

I am the tiny, lonely pebble
on the distant shore
you are the rising tide
I am waiting for

to find and carry me
to the passionate and endless sea
let me then drown in your slivery
*****--in your kisses I would die blissfully.

SNOW

My hair is white as the snow
is the season then
made for the shivering old
living with the cold?

but the kids jump for joy
and shout---this is fun-
as they play 'snow-throw'
while I watch from the window

musing as I do every year
as the new snow flakes one by one
fall and tell their story
before my weary eyes
and their mysteries unfold

are they saying
in the ripeness of time
all that is
must rest, decay and fall ?

winter is the white chalk
that writes in clear letters
on the blackboard of time-

it's the last chapter of life
soon all shall be wiped off
to make for a new slate
for future generations to write
lines of their own
stripped of all that has gone before

farewell then, autumn,
take your leave

but I
in my old age am still
  stubborn and unyielding
to winter's exaggerated pronouncement
and here I stand to proclaim

should only youth be bold
and old age be sold  
too soon  to the ravage of impatient time
is the song  Carpe Diem a mockery to me ?

is it too late to celebrate
my most glorious years

when seasoned experiences have wiped away all tears
and a new anthem shall proclaim
I am  the Ulysses -inspired man
who has weathered every storm ?

Though my hair is white as the snow
it's not the season for fare-welling
or to go
into the self-exiled wilderness
to regret or to moan

even in the bitterest winter
there shall be new dawns when
some warm light shall encircle still
around hearts that dwell on love and beauty
this is an awakening
not the sunset falling
the fond heart is singing
joys are in the blooming

so
winter I count
no more than
a metaphor

I am still alive
and furthermore
I know
my life has not been lived
in vain

It’s too soon
for me to say farewell
and walk away

No wonder so many are unhappy
Their lives are predicated on pluses
Pluses= happiness
Unhappiness comes from minuses.

All this they hanker after:
Pluses in wealth, power , position
Fame, recognition- even pluses in good looks
And wisdom--anything less is no consolation.

More acquisitions---the goal of life
(Pity those who live in minuses)
All the time they strive and strive
Chasing like addicts for the next round of seductive pluses.

Shouldn't they change their mind-set?
Surely minuses are to be more desired and embraced
Minus ill health,  minus greed, minus envy, minus discord
Minus strife, minus discontent--aren't pluses sadly misplaced?

No one can escape my eyes
I watch over everyone
I'm neither enemy nor friend
I'm neutral and independent.

I am mysteriously empowered
With a unique light
Whose beam can penetrate every heart
And nothing there eludes my sight.

What could be darker
Than the heart that in darkness dwells?
None should be afraid of me
Unless there's a secret buried that tells

A past story--the owner wants to forget-
It festers and won't go away
'  None should know this-
this should not appear in the light of day'.

I am night
I am also light
If anyone fears me
His conscience he should search--with honesty.

Yes, Santa will be here!
To the kids once again he will bring good cheer
At the last hour, a dentist he found
Who had not yet left town.

But Santa is insisting he won't be  singing
Three of his front teeth are missing
'  No screening on Universal TV
I don't want to look ugly and silly!'

It's better not to be there
than to be asked to unceremoniously  leave
society is a rough and tough thoroughfare
knowing your station saves you from much grief.

It's a power, fame and money-game
people meet and one another greet because there's gain
(if there's benefit--who cares about a bad name?)
I knew this long ago and from such places I happily refrain.

Santa has again let the kids down
they are miserable--everyone wears a frown-
Santa has sent an email and the words say:
' I have a severe tooth-ache and it won't go away.

All the dentists have left for holiday
the hospitals are closed and I can't go to sick-bay
next year all of you should fervently pray
Santa won't be medically put away'.

I went to the desert
           hopefully myself to discover
           only to return empty-handed
           none the wiser.

           In my dream last night
           a strange voice spoke to me:
           '  a thousand deserts won't do you any good
           only you alone can set yourself free'.

Chinese proverb: It's easier to change the course of rivers
and mountains than human nature
how wise and how true a saying--
what a rare treasure!

I can't be like anyone
I am not them
when closely I examine myself I begin
to understand why I am the person that I am.

Kiss the light
dance with the moon
flirt with the stars
life is romance and too soon
time will blot out
the radiance
of the day
sweet moments are to be embraced
*before they sadly drown in the sea of transience *

come my love
tarry not
you are my light
come
I am waiting
don't let me wait
in the dark

Words-
do they know
and understand more
than us?

they seem independent
they are unto their own
and in their quest
for freedom
they set us aside

so often
they hold us back
they contradict
and find fault
with us

who is the servant
and who is the master?

Tears
they speak silently
over and again
of the pain
of past years

regrets
too many
broken dreams
love's fragility
joy's brevity

tears
they know
and feel more deeply
than the sufferer
they can write the full story

in the finest detail
of moments that caused misery
which the sufferer would remember but vaguely
they have a very long memory
and a heart filled with pity

tears
will anyone
show them
some sympathy
who, who would that be?

The flute is mute
it's half-broken
the flautist leaves it alone
old age has spoken

once he was the pride
of the musical world--he brought tears
to his listeners - now in the silence
of his sick-bed--he wants to forget all his past years

Santa Claus is in deep financial trouble-verily-
He had spent too much on kids in the past
To save himself from bankruptcy
He has set up Santa Claus  (Universal )Trust.

Every kid shall contribute $1 annually
(Before Christmas Eve) to this 'most worthy charity'
His email to the kids ends with these words: 'Trust me-
I am a person of the utmost integrity'.

Santa Claus, Santa Claus !
the only person on earth who obeys no laws
we all know-unto himself he's an authority-
make way, make way for the Man Of Every Century!

More powerful than king and emperor
the world's most-loved- and- admired wonder
if you don't like dear Santa Claus
you would be the only one with obvious flaws!

You thought the day was over
only to imagine
night had eyes
and was watching you

night-hours seemed so unsafe
unlike those of the day
when activities shut away
your innermost thoughts

and amidst the  din and crowd then
you seemed a courageous person
there was safety in numbers and comradeship
so obvious and enticing--you didn't need to reason

all alone now--in the silence
every beat of your anxious heart you could hear
what had you done with yourself in the day?
did the night-hours cause you to tremble and to fear?

I hope this does clarify beyond doubt--
the lim-erick was not invented by our Lim family
(with an illustrious history)--- the reference is to a place in Ireland-
but the first was written by St. Thomas Aquinas in the 13th century.

Then this guy came along
in the 19th century
who perfected it so to say-
Edward Lear--he left behind a great legacy.

He wrote 212 in total
prolific he was--verily-
could Nigel Finn beat this record
as he did cause quite  a stir in Hello Poetry?

I should be ashamed
ever to claim--dishonestly
that my Lim family had changed
the world of Western poetry.

I hope this does clarify beyond doubt--
the lim-erick was not invented by our Lim family
(with an illustrious history)--- the reference is to a place in Ireland-
but the first was written by St. Thomas Aquinas in the 13th century.

I should be ashamed
ever to claim--dishonestly
that my family had changed
the world of Western poetry

You wrote to me:
'I never tried a Lim. Will have to give it a go!'
  George, a gorgeous idea
  Lim-ericks are seamless--I'm sure that you do know.

By the way, what does 'Lim' mean in Chinese
made up of two characters 'Tree and Tree'?
(Swung- mu lin---double trees =Lim)
in English, call me Mr Forest --I would be equally happy!

Should love know moderation
or should it swim in the wildest waters to the furthest shore?
isn't what is held now sufficient
why should the heart yearn for more and more?

Love in extremity is the lover balancing
at the precipice--a strong wind would cause a catastrophic  fall
but the heart is too quick to prompt:
love should never be less than all.

Beware of the limericks you write
There are many defamation lawyers in sight
Don't write bad things about your neighbour's dog or wife
The lawyers are just waiting to pull out their sharp legal knife
You could lose a fortune in a court-fight

Now you are being unreasonable, Sir --totally so-
I'll relate this story so that the whole world would know
You shouted at me:  "Wrong phone number
You stupid ****** !'
May I say: 'Why did you pick up the phone then, Sir Marlborough?'

This was the problem with the great bard William Shakespeare
Of venereal diseases he did not care or fear
The biographers do lament
His creative powers were unwisely spent
In 16th century brothels of London--on dear, oh dear!

There was a man from Beijing called Not Tee Lim
Ugly, bald, belligerent, recalcitrant and slim
Won the year's First Prize for Insolence,
Belligerence,  Indifference and Intolerance
He was bestowed a  knighthood--his new name-- Sir Irreverent Lim

Limericks are part of modern psychotherapy
Found to be efficacious in many a country
Edward Lear was before his time and did not think
He could sell his poems to every shrink
Today he would be worth millions in US currency

This is a true story
Of a robber named John-Sill Henry
With a water pistol
He tried to hold up Bank Royal
Caught red-handed--when the water leaked accidentally

Her name was Nancy
The chatter-box of the city
Her husband could take it no more
Decided to marry the city's most famous *****
Believe me--this is a real story.

Three men went to sea
John, Paul and Henry
There was not enough food and they fought
The weather was unbearably hot
They blasphemed:  hell is a better place to be!

We should embrace the limerick--everyone-
A fine thing under the sun
Life should not be taken too seriously
That would knock us silly
And limericks are such great fun!

I would have liked to meet
Edward Lear
his limericks are very sweet
and marvellously dear.

He would have gladly welcomed me as a friend
as my surname is Lim---close to lim-erick
we would have had fun to no end
and I would have  acquired his every unique poetical trick

Lily in the early frost
trembling in lonely cold and fear
who will come to me
and wipe away my every tear?

I can't last
before winter's close
it's sad to be born a fragile flower
my pain no human knows

My shadow
has vowed
to follow
me wherever I go

it asserts:
I won't be side-tracked
nor
set aside--I want you to know

I've the same rights
as you--so
we are equal partners in life-
I'm behind you in the show

I reply
in the best way I know
well-said, my alter ego
let's put on our show

Wasteland of my heart
where no flowers grow
past glory has faded
splendour has ceased to glow.


In my youth
my heart was a lush green field
where birds came to rest and sing
love I planted and to its beckoning happily I did yield.

In my manhood years that came too soon
weeds insidiously crept in--smudge gathered
on the once fertile ground-
all the flowers withered

And all that's left
is this wasteland--parched and desolate-
that my weary heart
seeks to forget.

Poetry is in essence
right words in the right order
but
it shouldn't  stop there

there's more
infinitely more

distillation
of the heart's deepest joys
and sorrows

constellation
of all that springs from
and happens to the self
in all its myriad manifestations
and facets--
mysterious - multifold

for life is an endless roll
of the self
in motion
and action-

self-searching
self-evaluation
self-conversation
self-evolution
self-determination
(existentiali­stic recognition
that life would inexorably end
in extinction
more despair and ennui
than hope?
that's the question
to be addressed individually--
  each life is sacred and its own
and asserts its will to be
before it sinks into oblivion)

poetry is also
the articulation
of the beyond-self
the juxtaposition
alongside others
the intricate and delicate interplay
of relationships
the joys and angsts
that follow

while time watches on
and carries a whip
'hurry, hurry--I wait for none-
presto!'

and
destiny stares one
in the face
testing one's mettle
and endurance
at any time
in any place

the poet writes:
I am saved by words
by words alone
they are my salvation
my one and only vessel
which gives my life
a ring-tone
however faint
and makes me aware
I am still living

'de nihil, nihil fit'
from nothing
comes nothing
either I am something
or nothing-
with myself I've to wrestle
to deny that
I am nothing

even if a pale shadow
I'm still something
I'd not forego
my right to being
someone in the making
for life is living
and experimenting
over time
a process of becoming

and at the end of things
I'd know with every single feeling
I've not failed myself in the task of living
through the words of my poetry
that have given me every meaning