Since school-days
I'd counted you as a dear friend
and now you said:  'You've stepped on my toes
our friendship should end'

' But over all these years',  I replied
'I'd stretched out to you my sincere hand'
ah,  'friendship' -what a word!
what it is I just don't understand.

Heroes belong to myth
and history
the word
frightens me

Daily heroic acts there are
hidden from public view but clothed silently in sacrifice
who are my heroes?
my beloved parents as seen through my eyes

The mariners are asleep
silence reigns over the distant hill
the sea has lost its rage
every wavelet lies serene and still.

Echoes of violin strains
are fading, fading away
receding, receding into the sombre night
the horizon looks like a blemished painting in misty grey.

The song has been sung
and the last note of the symphony
is sinking, sinking, dissolving, dissolving
gone, gone is the poignancy of every melody.

The poem has been written
of fresh themes the poet hopes to dream
he looks at the pale sky through the window
where neither the moon nor the stars shed a beam.

How I long for those teenage days
patiently I did write and post
my letters and postcards -
replies received---times happier than most.

But the Internet
has dampened our hearts and sentiments
the cold piece of machine faces and mocks us
forever lost our halcyon moments

The day comes
and quickly goes
would it be joys?
no one knows

But be steadfast in hope
let love fill your heart--be strong-
evening sets in and night descends
the day is well-lived and is your cherished song

1

Mother in garden
hanging nappies for drying
child watches from pram

2

It's the Aussie sun
that turns all the fields to brown
this is Christmas time

3

Teacher to the kids
who was Puccini?
' kind of zucchini'

4 *

'Twas the school-concert
the head boy proudly announced
' John will pay Chop--pin'

5

The roses have thorns
I am ready with scissors
What 'Haiden-Roselein?' #

No one is a fool
who falls in or out of love
for life is an open inviting field
to be played on
and love is the terra incognita
that has to be explored
(unless one wishes to wither away)

one has failed--so what?
lessons  are learnt
experiences are enriched
ignorance and folly drop away
(those who love should not fear
and those who fear should not love)

All that life is
is  action and progression
the libido
the will to overcome
the courage to be
to test one's mettle
(to be unafraid of bleeding
or of crying)
and not to yield
thus
here lies
the raison d'etre
for living

It's in making sense
of the unknown
to discover
the truth and meaning
of things
that we become
what we want to be

But those
who have not known love
will never know what it is
to **** life's sweetest nectar
a drop of which
is enough
recompense
for the bitterness
of love's pain
and the faithful vow
they are willing to die unto love

No one is a fool
who falls in or out of love

Immortality--so many hope to reap-
is not for me
all the joys and sorrows I've known
are enough to constitute my life-on- earth biography

to desire for more is vanity
signifying I' am still incomplete and unhappy
it seems to me hankering after immortality
is the face of selfishness and a refusal to accept life's brevity

Ripples
each a reminder
of the passing of relentless time
moving towards the next order
of moments--the heart is a river
where our fleeting dreams and hidden fears drift
our story stops at the last flow
into the indifferent sea--
the outcome of which we can never know

the beginning
is the journey towards the end
our being hangs
on to the in-between of time-then
the ripples become weaker and fewer
quietly they fade away and disappear

1
White swans in the lake
under a bright summer sky
a sparrow flies by

2  
She sang a sad song
her voice was filled with deep pain
she became the song

3

Snail on the flower
housewife appears on the scene
it ends in the bin

4

Rain in the city
umbrellas spread like mushrooms
a little child cried

5

Carpenter at work
sweat all over his body
he took off his shirt





5

FRAGILITY

How fragile is the rose
how brittle the wings of the butterfly
it's sad but true
how soon beauty does fade and die

How tender is our love
every moment that does come by
we strengthen and edify
true love knows no fragility--it's eternal like the sky

Do by the book
who wrote it?
I must have a close look.

Don't stray from here
but who's the authority?
I'd love to hear

Millions follow
( I'm not easily influenced by numbers-
  I don't bother to be in the numerical know)

Do by the book
One more chance we offer you
( you are threatening me--I can sense from your look !)

'Not to be'
is so easy
for me

my life
has been made happy
by 'not to be'

be like others?
that would be
death to me

be more
than myself?
what fallacy!

too many such people
who claim superiority
not for me

too many
with snobbery
I run away immediately

money
big, big money
not my fancy

all my life
I've hidden away
from clubs and high society

'come subscribe to
our philosophy'
they open the door-it terrifies me

'here is immortality'
I'm a humanist
that doesn't belong to me

'now is your last sunset'
its fading lights do you see?'
Ah for once --- yes--let me be !

Some days
I felt like walking away
from myself
to be nothing

the body is a burden
a captive to senses
the mind too vagrant-
self is too demanding

and never ceases
in wanting gratification
it fails to realise
it is creating its own prison

It will be good
some day
when  this self-absorption
time will put away

Darling, sing me that love song
the one you sang when your love you did vow-
do you remember that song?
I've forgotten it now.

Dearest,  that was ages ago
sorry,  I can't remember
shall give my memory a jog
perhaps it would come back never.

1

Soon it'll be Christmas
carols and lights in the town
buskers play louder

2   Think of Santa Claus
in his red suit and white beard
    he hates the whole thing  


3   Christmas without snow
     it's summer in Down Under
     welcome, warm Christmas

4

Over-indulgence
same story every Christmas
complaints thereafter

5  

  Christmas is for kids
  parents say they spend too much
  the kids call the shots

THROUGH MY EYES:        
BRAHMS’ S UNTITLED POEM  (1857) *
        
Women I love with my heart and soul
But I am not made for matrimony
A domestic life  and its trappings
Would destroy my creativity.    

Clara I would protect and worship
With my life—she is perfection-
Love I would blemish and defile
If I were to mention—‘Give me your affection’.

Ah, my beloved Robert is gone
In his tomb my heart is interned
My mentor, my friend, my inspiration  
Alas, how little I gave my master in return.

My music is Robert and Clara
Our souls are by destiny wrought
History shall remember
But would understand us not.



         * Robert Schumann (1810—1856)

        * Johannes Brahms (1833-1897)

        * Clara Schumann    (1819—1896)

Don't sing me another love-song
I've heard too many
all I need to know
is whether you truly love me

Don't sing me another love-song
it will be my turn to sing some day--only
time would prove whether your love is true-
then you'll find that I  sing even more beautifully

I walked back to the past
and it stared at me
who are you? why did you visit here?
are you invited?--speak honestly

Don't you remember me?
I was the mischievous lad
who used to play tricks on you
at your compound?--you called me 'notoriously bad'

How presumptuous you are
billions of kids had been here before
there was nothing special about you
don't you knock on my door any more

It would do you mighty good
if you don't return again--persona non grata-
you are no longer the kid you were
and your company I desire not--stay away, stay away far!

The interplay
between self and others
the drama that never stops

what to do
and not to do
what is right and what is wrong?

giving or taking?
are acts sincere or faking?
are they joy-giving or sorrow-causing?

and when it's about loving
that's the hardest reckoning
is it about both or only self-gratifying?

how much self?
how much should one's extending
to others be? Most perplexing

but if love were true
self should be serving
the loved one--the act most ennobling

Love hates excuses
explanations it loathes to entertain
it stands resolute and hits back
'  Stop talking--not again!'

How love suffers
when vows are not kept
it knows the bitterest pain
and weeps-- alone and bereft

THE STORY OF A DOG

I am a Chihuahua
Not from Mexico but of Asian breed
I fawn upon my master every moment
I serve his every daily need.

He says,  ‘stay’ and I obey
‘Sit’  and I immediately sit
He wants me to sulk when business is bad
No problem for me—I can take all his ****.

He gives me the most delicious meat
On the finest bed I sleep
I walk proudly behind him
His company I faithfully keep.

But this does worry me-
What if I to fall from his favour?
Ah, such is the life of a Chihuahua-
Good things can never last forever!

Everyone has a secret trademark
known to him alone
it makes him what he is
that brand he singularly does own

it will last for ever
from it  he will never part
it is his most precious diamond
it rules his soul and heart

Losing
is better than winning
you acquire humility

Losing
your egoism
sets you free

Losing your pride
lends you
acceptability

Letting go
of your temper
gives you tranquillity

Losing
your selfishness
confers charity

Losing
your greed
your prize is being content and happy

Ridding yourself
of bad habits
you gain mastery

Losing
is a word to be watched
it will save you from a lot of misery

I can't be more than
     what I am
     only this and this alone defines me-
     should I further claim
    
    I do myself an injustice
     weeds are not roses and lemon
     is not champagne
     on this I need no lesson

     I know
     my station
     in this tiny faraway corner
     I seek no recognition

     little blessings I hold so dear to my heart
     sorrows  I accept with utmost humility
     of life's treasures I ask for none
     this is my happiness--simplicity

You do yourself wrong
thinking
it is angst to be waiting

waiting
is
life's testing

of your patience
and endurance
preparing

you for tougher trials ahead
and looking
back--you will be thanking

life
for every opportunity
to be waiting

the greatest gift you will be receiving
is when you have taught your heart
to wait for love's sweetest ripening

SONG OF THE PAINTER
                       (Dedicated to ...)


My mind swims in the endless sea
Of myriad shapes and colours
A mysterious force guides my hand
To create light,  shade and contours.

The whole universe beckons to me
Its pulse I feel, its beauties I see
I let my fancies roam wild and free
I touch the edge of eternity.

Every stroke of my brush
Vibrates like  a string of my heart
I leap into a kaleidoscopic world-
The Acadian garden of art.

In every shape and colour
An echo of music do I hear
The painter is an orchestrator
Of beauty that is ever sweet and dear.

This is another kind of death
of our own making
we die not once
but through our whole life-time
moment by moment
bit by bit

this is the sad and tragic story
of our moral decay
and spiritual death


through lies
and untruths
we give away
the best in us
so that we may live and survive

never mind the prize
we pay
what we care about
is the moment and the day

the end justifies the means

we learn the power of words
we grind them to knife-sharp
they glitter
and acquire the power to cut through
the hardest stone

the smartest
the most successful and powerful
are those
who have perfected
the art of lying
and manipulation
supreme masters
of pretence
and deception

who really cares about
moral decay?
spiritual death?
who is speaking?

Does the past have
an 'expiry date'
as in merchandise
'best consumed by...' ?

If I had no past
what am I then?
could it be obliterated and meet
with a sudden end?

Fantasy
sometimes
at odd times
seems so real-
at least for that moment
reason suspended
judgment abandoned
my legs tremble
my palms are cold
a flush appears
in my face
I feel dizzy
I can't think
lost and bewildered
eyes transfixed
feasting
on that face that appears
suddenly from nowhere
so exquisite
so angelic
so tender
so dreamy
(she is everything I want
she is perfection
personification
of beauty beyond the finest words
of the best poet
yes,  at this moment
it's only she
the world doesn't exist anymore)

this is not a dream
no, I am not dreaming
(I pinch my arm to be sure)

imagination takes its wild amorous leap
the heart pounds
in some strange anticipation
is it rapture?

if only she would look at me
give me a nod
a smile
send me a 'yes'
or 'who are you?' message
through her eyes

but she stands there
her eyes seem far away
(look at me--I am just a few yards away
standing opposite you)
she hardly moves
(I think she looks
somewhat sad-
has she been hurt by love
as I have been?
if that were so
we have a reason to tango..)

suddenly her face brightens up
she looks away
waves to someone

in seconds
her man appears
she rushes to him
cries our her heart-
'darling I've waited a long time
I thought you would never come'
then she kisses him
so passionately
as though that would be their last

I am a loser
a loner
one who lives
in fantasy

The wild side of life
I choose to walk
the commonplace
dulls my senses
stultifies and diminishes me
I would then be
no more than a shadow
a spectre
and count myself as waste
condemned to an uneasy oblivion-
a doomed, pitiful and failed figure

in the desert flowers do not blow
even the winds turn course
freedom to choose
birds lose their singing voices
in this wilderness
and stars hide away
from this desolation
even the lowly dust
longs to be blown away
to escape this monotony
this silence
unbearable

I must walk
on the wild side of life
to liberate
and find my true self
there is no turning back
I have no past
the past is dead

Miniatures
micro-pictures
win me over
the macro distracts
as too large a canvas it does cover
anything that's in excess
dulls the senses
in the menu of life
there's just too much to choose
why would I prefer ten dishes
when the best I have tasted?

I don't know why
some sunsets make me sad
I stare at the fading sun
as I had
done in times past-   memories
still linger on somehow
(what entered my feelings then-
why should they affect me now?)
this I can only surmise
evenings are hours that languish
as the heart that seeks comfort and rest
the day's troubles wishes to relinquish

what would I dream of tonight
in a realm hidden from human sight?

Could I be a writer?
only five in a hundred are so
am I a writer?
the honest answer is 'No'

but I am not quitting
I'll still keep my pen
the tears from my ink would some day
hopefully make me a better man

If you do come to Australia
don't think just of the kangaroo--also the dugong
the koala, the platypus, the wombat and the Tasmanian Devil
and learn to sing Waltzing Matilda the nation's most-loved song

far superior to  Advance Australia Fair (believe me)
our uninspiring national anthem (most Aussies would agree)
and the lyrics were so badly
written-- no wonder Aussies could never sing the song properly

If you told your story*
I would listen--attentively
every life is a mystery
your story would remind me of our common humanity

If you told your story
you are opening your heart to me
every life has its misery but also poignancy
through trials and tribulations we become what we want to be

Should I say it again
dearest Lily?
walk away
forget me

I am not meant
for you--I would cause you misery
I love you, yes, I do
most sincerely

but I am not gifted
nor romantic in any way
too simple and common
you deserve better--for your sake that I say

love is strange--verily
such a mystery
the heart battles with the brain--let go of me-
should I say it again, dearest Lily?

DOES THE HEART REALLY KNOW?

Does the heart really know
what it wants?  Each gratification
leads to another--desire must be satisfied
without equivocation

never mind if desire
leads to destruction
what is life
if not lived in passion?

let the fire of desire burn
let love erupt in the most violent explosion
the heart will not rest
its longings know no obliteration

Does the heart really know
the pain of loving? Passion
dies too soon and in its trail
brings an end to gratification.

If you come to Australia
Be sure not to wear some flowers in your hair
Aussies are down-to-earth and not poetical people
For floral beauty they don't really care

If you do come to Australia
The qualification you must have is drinking beer
Everyone in the pub (especially young pretty Aussie women)
Will hug you till you weep--otherwise, please don't come here!

'ENTRY' --I go in
'EXIT--' I get out
'VERBOTEN' I stay away
  These three words ring so strong and loud

Should I stay ?
But what's this all about?
Should I get away?
Can't decide--due to my doubt

VERBOTEN
Forbidden
I don't bother to argue
Prudence--a rule that's golden

When to get out or stay in I'd know
If I do have wisdom enough
Living life is not as easy as changing your clothes
The journey is long, lonely, burdensome and unrelentingly tough

SOMEWHERE RIVER

Somewhere River
winding through time’s corridor
silent chronicler
of the heart of man and its sacred inner core

sentinel of history
record-keeper
of life's mystery
it forgets never

night and day
its waters meander
through every remote bend near or far away
further and yet further

can you hear its song so tender
when the night is hushed asleep
when the tired moon longs for slumber
when the stars in deepest silence  weep?

We are all like Somewhere River
we exist somewhere –each a traveller
through time,  a lonely unknown wanderer
this is our life-story—what else should we remember?

1

A glowworm flickers
like a tiny star on high
' Look, mum, look there, mum'

2   Last light of sunset
     old fisherman sets for home
     he wears a broad smile
3

Balloons in the sky
it's a public holiday
kids lick their ice-cream

4

Serene is the night
soft breezes drift in the air
roses droop in sleep

5

Over-grown grassland
wild yellow flowers flourish
birds fly here to rest

Life is but a view-point
yours and yours alone
sacred unto yourself
your inalienable right
your innermost sanctum
privy to yourself and none else

life is your raw material
which you shape and mould
in whatever way you want
into what your dreams dictate
the world has no say
nor have the right to know

with loyal, patient and faithful hands
you work
you give all you have
to this pursuit
of love, beauty and duty
you make life become
part of yourself
it begins to understand
and learns to speak your language

you and your life
then fuse into one complete whole-
one view-point
as immortal as time

Isn't every day the same then
the slow-grinding hours at work in the city
waiting for the clock to  tick faster
the tedium, ennui and feelings close to misery?

how dreadful to get up in the early hours
(this winter is beyond endurance)
breakfast eaten in a hurry
to catch the 6-elevens

half-asleep in the train
(fearful to miss the stop--drowsy)
doleful and tired faces all around
(isn't everyone unhappy?)

irascible boss
stingy as hell
the office doesn't have enough heating
but none is brave enough to tell

lest he gets the flick
(this is recession-time, jobs are hard to come by)
no salary increase or annual bonus
all that you can do is to suffer in silence and sigh

long hours, no thanks from Mr Glum
(none dares take sick-leave)
Paul took two days and was shown the door
working conditions here are beyond belief.

week-ends---the same humdrum
too many beers and betting at the race
( Nancy threatens divorce---my losing spell)
my life is a dreadful failure---I am a total disgrace

return home at midnight after too much *****
broke, worry sick, can't sleep---how to survive
the next week?--Sammy lends money at 10% a week
I depend on him (he's a good friend) to stay alive.

You my friend told me the other day
'  Eh, mate--you have lost weight and look unwell'
  you John my dear friend are dead-right
   my life is worse than hell!

MIND

No science can unravel
the mystery of mind
brain-bred alone?
matter first
next--the insubstantial-
the fluidity of thinking that follows?
the chicken first
then the egg kind of reasoning?

but mind is infinite
and has no boundaries-
it can't be measured
or calibrated
MRI is mechanistic
and neurology is but a crude tool
they probe the physicality
but never touch the inner core
which cannot be detected or mapped
and all psychiatry is but guess-work
will o'-the-wisp and
the fancy of the shrink
who is hopelessly inadequate
and an object of pity
(doctor, heal thyself first!)

where  is the birth-place
of thought?

science is inferior to nature
what is unknowable far exceeds
the bounds of the known
mind--the eternal enigma

how is genius born?
how is the unspeakable articulated
through poetry, music and art?
how does the mind create such beauty
as to be beyond the bounds of human understanding
and experience? Isn't it then a mystery within mysteries
and makes reason mute and causes science to weep?

how does beauty so sublime arise
from the non-physical
which knows not its own abode?

the brain
is not the mind
and the mind is not the brain

which is superior then?
that which is beyond
the narrow straits of science
counts for infinitely more

They call me 'an idiot'
I stammer and with words I struggle
I am slow and have a an 'IQ so very low'
People to me are a puzzle.

They use strange words
My condition is 'congenital'
Others go even further
I suffer from a 'brain deficit'--'a disorder neurological'

But I can keep a job
Always hardworking and punctual
I dress neatly, know how to take the bus
My boss said 'Peter is not brilliant but reliable'

Dad minds the farm, mum takes care
Of my little brother Tom and Tanya my tiny sister
I give my parents half my monthly salary
So that my siblings will have a good education and further

Their studies perhaps in uni
There is always joy and warmth in the family
We share, we laugh, we sing and make merry
Despite what others say--I am happy, truly blessed and happy.

Tomorrow
we all say
there's no end to tomorrows

after all
we have time
so what's not done today
is carried forward
to the next day

it's work-in-progress
the final product
will come out somehow
wait until tomorrow

so convenient a word
tomorrow

we'll be still around
what then is the rush and hurry?
the sky won't fall off
we still have a job
we'll drink beer
and watch TV
have fun
let tomorrow
take care of itself

don't take a swipe
on tomorrow
it could mean
too many a sorrow

so have a thought
even a tiny one
there are not too many tomorrows
every past day
is a minus on the spectrum of time

think
what guarantee is there
you would rise to see
the sun tomorrow?

'Not now
because I'm not ready-
    another time'
  
  not now
when then?
   no answer-complete silence

how many moons have since gone by
   the tiny buds
have blossomed into full-blown roses

some others
have stolen
your prize

and you look on
in disbelief
in wild surprise

you can't contain yourself
and start looking for the next round
but find written on the wall ' nothing left now'

1

Because I was born into poverty
I learnt some of life's most valuable lessons

2

Because I don't over-rate my skills
I suffer from few disappointments

3

Because I could not flatter nor compromise
some people kept away from me

4

Because I recognise the ways of the world
I am not easily fazed

5

Because I know life is too short
I don't fritter time away in idle indulgence

1

Because I hurt others
I try to mend my ways.

2
Because others hurt me
I must accept that the world is made up of different kinds of people.

3   Because every person's opinion of me differs
I must accept that some would say things not  in my favour

4

Because it's not possible to read another's mind
I find it prudent to reserve my judgment

5

Because I know life is parsimonious
I don't ask for favours