I ain't sweet
I can be real bad
I pull my dog's ears
when I'm not glad

I kick the pebble back from school
hoping it would land on someone's head
I don't like our form teacher Miss Carey's ugly nose
I'm a monster many teachers dread.

Why am I looking at this drawer
  and am afraid of its contents?
  over 60  love-letters of long ago
  which I could repeat almost by heart
  ( I kept every envelope as well-
    time, date received, year written thereon
   in my best hand
   as though they were worth more than diamonds)
  several containing crushed roses
  a few poems of Robert Browning
  Keats, Byron, sonnets of Shakespeare
  Yeats,  Donne, Thomas Hardy, John Clare..
  every letter a reminder
  of youth's once tender kisses
   solemn vows
  and secret words exchanged
  that could never be shared
  with anyone
  (love is too personal-
   a sacred pledge of hearts
   never to be broken)

    vanished are the dreams of youth
   I am old and weary now

    no longer the proud lover
    but a cynic
    no longer a believer
   in the glory of love-poems
  and stories of romance
  (yes---love is not a fairy-tale
   and all love stories should end
   with this sentence:
  ...and they lived with regret and sorrow thereafter...)

    words are just words
spoken at convenience
for the sake of the speaker
words are selfish
though the speaker knows not

she wrote and spoke more poignantly
than I ever could
she was mistress of words
she wrote as though
she was consumed by the fire of love
and would die in  its burning furnace
for my sake
all for my sake
' I would die for love
and for you, dearest
for you are my life
the very air I breathe...'

(I wept then as those words I read-
I memorised every word )

   Is love but sweet words
  to be forgotten ?
  
  I shouldn't open the drawer
  lest I begin to attribute blame
je deteste?  deja vu? chagrin d'mour?

I was about to stretch out
my hand ...
but my faithful wife called
from the kitchen
' why are you lingering in your study?
  darling, dinner is ready--your favourite chicken curry!'

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.

I would not your teacher be
if you don't come in humility
learning is of no utility
unless you can acquire morality

Life is all about you, your values, family,
community, society and country
know yourself, know duty and one day you will be
a role-model, admired for now and all posterity.

Last night I dreamt
I was a butterfly
light,  so light
as I glided like a feather on high--

all around was an endless expanse
of flowers of all colours---I
could hear them say---' You are not dreaming'
( I woke up ---still desiring I could fly).

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.

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.

It is what it is
do not ask the why of things
a rose is a rose

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.

This is the age of tragedy
we are drowned
in the sea of technology-

nothing matters now--only
devices, gadgets, machines, contraptions
that claim: 'We'll make you happy'

This is the age of tragedy
blown over a thousand times Orwellian prophecy
none is free--everyone is subject to the minutest scrutiny

We regard ourselves smart--or supposedly-
but prostrate before that highest authority
faceless, feelingless,  mute,  the ubiquitous and iniquitous LED

This is our self-afflicted tragedy
in our proclamation: ' Progress, progress at any cost'--
we have lost our entire humanity

When you are in tears and your heart is heavy
help is on hand, you won't be lonely
just flick the switch,  browse over Wiki.

One word
saved my life:
Enough

Dreams I'll collect
and  I'll scatter them among the moon and stars
they will build a castle for our love high up
we'll have wings to fly in freedom without bars

Vows of love I'll collect
into the sweetest bouquet for you I'll weave
my poems I'll gather and with celestial perfumes sprinkle
only this I need to hear: 'My darling,  your love with my whole heart I receive'

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

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.

Open your heart to me
  like the green meadow
  waiting for the kiss of the sun
  let our love glow

  in every sweet ardour
  come to me ere the sunset
  ere the roses go to sleep
  my vow I'll forever keep--how could I forget?

My heart I neglected
it was grievously hurt and turned away
it refused to talk to me
by night or by day

inconsolable
incessantly it wept
we didn't talk for years
as though our happy past had been swept

into the dark bottomless sea
I have lost my best friend
and it's too late for healing
I'll regret this until the end

of time---I was young and too arrogant
to give way to feelings-I knew no meekness
I prided on my strength and resolve
remorse has come too late--what is left now is but my sadness.

People will see you
from their perspective
whatever you do or say
counts for little---the world
is all about perceptions

objectivity is left to sleep-
it suits the other person best-

prejudices abound, egos mislead
arrogance rules-even hatred raises its venomous head

mutual understanding?
respect for others?  Congruence?
goodwill?  universal peace?
nay--only cacophony and anarchy our there
and the last scene is like an apocalypse
when ideologies clash
and in the senseless and merciless battle  fields
humans perish as in plagues of long ago

when reason and compassion are abandoned
and assigned to oblivion
where's mankind's hope?

There are tears
but of a different kind
not born of one's own suffering
but that which affects our heart and mind--

that ubiquitous sorrow with which so many are afflicted
helpless in suffering, deprivation, neglect, loneliness, fear and pain
(who dares stand up and proclaim:? This is the age of  peace and plenty!'
it's the same political and business people's rhetoric---over and over again.

There's little hope or respite
wars darken the sky and soldiers fall
in daily battlefields
while leaders make their inhuman and infamous call

'To arms, to the glory of our nation
to the defence of our faith and ideology'
while on the roadside the innocent--young and old-
perish in cold and hunger-- who will shed the tears of our century?

PITCHING TENT

Where should you pitch your tent?
Have you studied the terrain?

Will the winds be too strong?
Is it too close to the sea?

Is it disease-infested?
Are there dangerous animals?

Can you find enough wood
to make fire in the winter?

Can you find water?
Where are your sources of food?

Do you have enough warm clothes?
Can your tent withstand heavy storms?

Are there wild people there
with ready spears in their hands?

Have you counted the cost in your mind
of what you have left behind?

Can you bear the loneliness?
what made you decide to leave civilisation?

The next ship will arrive only in twenty years
will you live in fear and tears?

Think, think over - make sure
this is the right decision

Once you have pitched your tent
there is no turning back.

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

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.

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

There's no escape from THEM
they will hunt you down
not of your doing---they have to find a scapegoat
though you know them not---somehow

they will attribute their failings
to you---' You caused our downfall'
you are their 'marked man'
and hopelessly you protest-- 'But I don't know you at all'.

There's no escape from THEM
even if you become a monk in a faraway monastery
or decide to be a recluse in the furthest mountain
they would still come in hordes as your relentless enemy.

   None hears you though you say'  But I did none any harm
   I'm just another human being--a nobody-
   why have they chosen me as their target?
   Alas!  I'm doomed !--can someone help set me free?'

'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

Do you want to hear more?
you I would further deceive
I 'm the trickster who always wins--
words I have perfected--a liar and thief.

Lonely women, sad women, rich women, neglected women
so many had fallen for my charms---I am poison-hidden
their money they parted in the name of love--all in an instant
I gave them hell and destroyed their dreams of heaven.

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.

THE ARTIST'S SOLILOQUY*

I reproduce the world
in pictures
man in himself
in life
and in the universe
this eternal inter-play
is the sanctum
of all my works

I am a visionary
(a humble one
but no less sensitive)
I cry more than I laugh
as the world is the place
where mankind's tears fall
without end
due to man's own making

the heart desires
what it should not
for things
that don't sanctify
but man is weak
and morally falls
too easily
and drowns
in the nameless sea

nature weeps
for the callousness and greed
of man
who has her beauty defiled
and marred

progress
what progress?
it's just the breeding-ground
of greed and indifference

bulldozers knock
down the trees
chemicals pollute the seas
grasslands and fields
are sacrificed for construction
land has turned into concrete--***** and ugly

as I paint
my heart
is heavy-laden
and I ask
over and over again
what has happened to man?

My heart beat so wildly
as though I was to enter into battle
or to claim the prize of my life-
so eager and exhilarated
euphoric
steeled in will
all my energies in fullest harness
casting all else aside
I promised myself
never to look back
now my hour had come
no moment
could be more glorious and triumphant
( my whole life depended on it)-
I' am arriving
the long-awaited arrival
the past is dead-
goodbye!

the moment came-

my heart all at once sank
I couldn't believe my eyes
it was a cruel blow-
to what I expected- so nasty-
shock was an under-statement
nay, the sharpest insult
and a hateful slap on my tired face

it was but a deserted outpost--
grey buildings falling apart
old papers and brown leaves
blown in the air
dilapidated barns
rusty and ugly machines and tools
bicycles with most parts missing
broken bottles and empty food-cans all over
books all torn and smeared
a maimed dog and a starving cat
sniffing over rotten fruits
and foul-smelling discarded food
watched by an indifferent black crow
on a bald tree by a puddle of stinking water
the inn bore the once-proud words-
'1865--best home for the tired traveller'
now no more than a shack-
history has spoken
almost with vengeance
a **** crowed from nowhere
the farm-gate had fallen on the muddy ground
the thirsty flowers bore dried appearances-
what a painful sight!

Is this a nightmare?

And I thought
this was the end of my journey
and I had come in triumph
to claim my coveted prize-
a new life

and now
reality hit
at the core of my being
as though to say:
' O, your dreamer
you are no more than a little child
who longs for toys to play with
in your loneliness and fancy
life is never a fairy-tale
your journey has not even started'.

Suddenly
dark clouds
flooded the whole sky
a storm was brewing
then the rain pelted
as though in anger
where
where could I hide
as there was nowhere
for shelter?

In the beginning was words and also at the end
in them we are consumed, scorched and burnt
in the between of love and hate, of sorrow and joy
words ruled all the way and life's most poignant lessons we learnt--

words become us
we are words and thus kept alive
in the beginning was words
and also at the end--there's no escape from such strife.

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.

You my pupils asked
' Do you have doubts, Master?'
  My answer: 'They are my starting point
  Without which I could go no further

In its crucible
Dissolves the dust and gold
Crystallises--those who think they
Know all---they fool themselves a thousand-fold'

We are all dreamers
how else could we have lived
in a desolate and lonely world
where life is struggling to breathe
and the heart is bereft and  barren
seeking consolation and relief?

we dream
because it's through dreams
we create a new world
and become what we aspire to be
the dross drops away
the dust vanishes
weeds disappear
to be replaced by
radiant flowers that burst
into the fresh and welcoming air
and what is before us
starts to shine
like the brightest light of day

they are the visionaries
who have the courage to dream
defying all that which destroys
love, charity and beauty
they are the harbingers
of a new era
torch-bearers
to light up the world
the hope-givers
who will set every human heart free

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 !)

I'm dying
but death I deny-
I'm still living

though hope is not in the offing
yet  with every dawn
there's sweet unfolding meaning

as I've loved living
there's not a stint of sadness
in my soon-to-be departing

I've been listening
to Schubert's Das Tod Und Das Madchen#
death is a friend--a thought so comforting

my poetry is my life entire- -singing
to me is each line drawn from
my body-system which is failing

you my friends who brought me poetry books for reading
late into the night I kept awake
I'd been through Keats, Shelley, Byron, Wordsworth and Browning

yet more,  the other poets remaining--
the true poet never gives in to weeping
his poems triumph over everything

you, my dear friends, now I'm biding
you good cheer, do promise you would go away smiling
knowing I've loved every moment of living.

1
The shrink told his nurse
'I must go home---I've something on my mind'
'What's worrying you Doctor?'
His reply: 'I left my alter ego behind'

2
The shrink said to his patient
'Let me put on my glove before I shake your hand--please excuse me'
The latter asked: ' Is there something wrong with me?'
The good doctor replied: ' Oh no, it's just that I suffer from OCD'.

3

The shrink said to his nurse
'   I am going on leave---working too hard I think'
'To America, Europe or Asia?' she enquired
The boss replied: ' Oh no, I need to see a shrink'.

4
Patient to the shrink
' Doctor, are you Freudian, Jungian or Adlerian? '
Reply: ' I am not sure--those buggers
Are just as mad as I am--I really don't have an opinion'

5

The shrink could not marry
He was afraid of the female ***
He told his colleague
'  Last night, I dreamt a woman was chasing me with an axe!'

A MYSTERY BEYOND MYSTERIES

Outer space/the cosmos where elements collide/stars are born and die/
wonders and mysteries of the universe/beyond human comprehension /that which cannot be expressed sets limits on language and thought/we and the universe live in co-existence and are bound together by a mystery beyond mysteries/we live on as the universe/ we live forever as the universe does not die

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

1

The centipede bumped into the spider on the same leaf
and said:  I've been looking for you the whole day--what a relief!

2
The hooked fish looked its captor in the eye
and said: I'll curse you from your stomach until you die

3

The envious star said to its neighbour:
I'll outshine you in splendour

4
The dog approached the frightful mouse
and said: I won't eat you--there's a lot of food in this house

5

One fish said to another--let me see your eyes
you should see a marine ophthalmologist, I surmise

1
Children by the sea
counting pebbles one by one
their mothers watch on

2
Silence in the wood
a bird flits from tree to tree
shaking a few leaves

3  
Rain beats on the door
leaves tremble in the night air
the dog sleeps soundly

4
Evening church bells
choristers' songs fill the air
the faithful gather

5

At the barber-shop
click click click go the scissors
the combing comes last

Anger first cost me my friends
then my job
my long-suffering wife left me
it's too late now for me to sob.

I quarrelled with the bank manager
the bank cancelled my credit card and recalled my loan
I scored an 'A' for being Melbourne's MAM (Most Angry Man)
it's too late now for me to moan.

From a broken heart
tears will fall to water
the garden of love
that someone will come to  be your lover.

If the sorrows of love
you never did know
how would you taste that ecstasy
when love its splendour doth show?

1

' I am deadly serious!' you said
My reply: ' Sue me then--when you are dead!'

2  
   Charlie, what should we do with Charlie Sheen?
   He would never come clean
   He takes delight in creating any public scene
   And often he's quite obscene!

3
    Two men argued in the tram vehemently
    Over the definitions of  'monkey' and 'chimpanzee'
    They went into a rage--came to blows--nearly
    A third man came along and said: 'Please respect our ancestry'  

4

     World population to grow to 9.7 billion
      By 2050 from the present level of 7.3
      The downside is food scarcity
      The upside is --fewer of us would suffer from obesity!

5
         I don't care much about money
         (But truthfully I do have have plenty)
         Only when I reach 123
          Would  I give away my money to charity

We say 'Wel-come' (such a nice word)
but never 'Wel--go'
(I've outsmarted Shakespeare)
this word even he didn't know.

Good-bye, adieu, farewell
words that seem so sombre and sad
'wel-go' has such a lovely ring and glow
it makes everyone glad.

'Quit!'-- the most powerful word
I know
one that
I'll never let go-

sounds grandiosely onomatopoeic
( a word that never fails to stick)
it shakes
the existing foundation
and order of things
it compels
listening and reckoning-

the establishment
is held aghast and asks:
'Is this a sting
to everything
we hold sacred and dear?'
( why should the present masters fear
  if of their own stand they stand sure?)

'Quit!'
a word
so final
affirmative
decisive
prophetic
as though
the bulwarks of the old
must give way to the new
(and what's that 'new' happening?--
those who are threatened are asking)

' Quit!'
how glorious the word!
audacious
pugnacious
cantankerous
unrelenting
uncompromising
non-conforming
unflinching
unyielding
irreverent
intransigent
belligerent
most triumphant !

unashamed
contemptuous
of the current state of being
virtuous
as it would not prostrate
before what it deems to demean
human morality or decency
it would not cow
to suppression or tyranny--
' Quit! if you want to be free!'

How often
in my youthful days
' Quit!' swamped my mind
before those who controlled and bullied me
as I was poor and weak
with no recourse
to any safety nor sanctuary-
how they took delight to see
me at their mercy--
my misery made them happy

' My time shall come'
myself I did promise
through sweat and tears
I laboured waiting for the dawn
when I would shake off the yoke
of my unhappy years-

' Patience, patience, patience'
to myself a thousand times I said
'  The time has not come,  you must still wait
in more patience, yet more, more and more' --even in the dead
of night the word returns to haunt
  weeks followed days, months followed weeks
years followed months, decades followed years
  my struggle took three decades-
the price of freedom didn't come cheap

then came the crowning moment
and before the inquisitors I threw my gauntlet
looked into their fearful and perplexed eyes
and exclaimed : ' I QUIT!'
(the most senior of them fell from his seat!).

Quitters of the world
unite!
you have nothing to lose
but your chains!

In the eternal spheres
where galaxies meet
they sing
and one another greet

as they have done
billions of years ago
taught by their forebears
their love of music never ceases to grow.

When mankind has gone to sleep
the winds and the clouds on high
can hear their celestial notes
drifting throughout every corner of the sky.

Poor earth,  where nations fight
where behind every agenda hides a lie
I watch the firmament and think:
for us the calm and gentle galaxies in sympathy cry.

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

No one's permission you need-
living your life
is not like getting
a licence or permit
to do this or that--or passing
an exam-
you are
your own government
you are
your own authority
you owe none
any obligation or duty

it's your playing-field
to none
do you yield
only that to yourself
be sincere and true
for none
does care or bother about you
in their selfish and often
blind and senseless pursuits
so sad indeed but so true

it seems to me
it's best not to have a name
as namelessness attracts
the attention of none
it sets me completely free

how churlish
are so many
who assume
they are born
to superiority
who proclaim:
' look to me
be my follower
in me
you'll find your destiny'.

how much more
I 've learnt
wandering in the wild
of nowhere
where nature teaches and smiles
the flowers greet me
the breezes sing their songs
in glee
the butterflies, the bees
the birds,  the insects
the warbling stream
the dancing leaves
nature in her pristine beauty
beneath a mild and gentle sky
each living thing relates their own story

only, only
I should be silent
humble, empty
ready
their voices to hear
(how innocent this elemental life
that does over the folly of man transcend--
how sweet, how comforting, how endlessly dear!)

here
there's no coercion
no human clamour or commotion
here's perfect freedom
that teaches me every lesson
about living
I am transformed
transfixed
to the mystery and splendour
of timelessness

no one's permission
I need
this, this is my truth
my salvation
my liberation.

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?' #

The years glide on
not so much as a sound
like late-autumn leaves falling
on the waiting ground

the sorrows we met, the tears we shed
love watched with faith, in silence and never frowned
that which is beyond the pale of words
is infinitely more sublime and profound.

LIFE: THROUGH  MY EYES

Forget, better still ignore
what the great philosophers had said
life is but a point of view
only I and I alone can shed

meaning from my experiences
unique, individual, lonely and tumultuous
life is in the singular and the roads
I have travelled are unknown to the multitudinous

no outsider heard me cry nor witnessed my tears
like a caged animal how often I had been trapped with my hands tied
also  imminently close to drowning and I struggled against the tide
my freedom to regain---every means I courageously tried

and promised myself with the words
'   I was not born to yield
   ( proud philosophy is no comfort nor succour)
    I  was victorious as I fought without fear in life's battle-field'.