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

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?

Come, meet me tonight
when the stars and the moon have gone to sleep
bring nothing but your true and sincere heart
faith let us never forget to keep

till new stars are born on high
and the moon has put on a brighter look
we shall dance in the firmament beyond time
and together write love's most beautiful book.

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.

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'.

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!

Words, once spoken,  die
in the void of the moment
however, sweet
or eloquent

like the interval
between two musical notes ---consequent
to the utterance, silence makes its appearance--
patient, omniscient and sublimely poignant.

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.

Everyone praises to the sky high-tech
not me---the **** thing knows no tact--
a slight mistake you make
serious offence it does take
it gets into a rage--immediately-
it shuts you out--without mercy
you start to sweat, panic and say:
Dear High-Tech, show pity, don't go away
it's arrogant and relentless like none other
though you might be at the end of your tether
My mean boss Mr Farthing Cross comes along and does yell
why take so long--what the hell
are you doing?  Do you want the sack, Mr Slow?
and how could I reply: my computer has given me a blow?
How could I not blame the Industrial Revolution
that has caused all this chaos without compunction?

Let me just say this:  high-tech I detest
it would just cause everyone untold sorrow and unrest

and now comes Mr Cross
'  You're sacked......'--well he's the boss!

Twinkle, twinkle little star
You are a busybody
I'm lying in the field with my love tonight
I don't want anyone to see.

Twinkle, twinkle nosey star
Don't you broadcast what you see tonight
I am with the Princess of Persia
I know you would do what is right.

The song has ended
and faded into the silent night
it lives on forever
in the lovers' hearts--true love never takes flight

only resides to endear and charm
to rekindle desire--beyond the pale of words and time-
ah, my beloved,  be my ever-shining light
as we embrace and abide in the eternally sublime.

I should never compare
myself with others--I'm my own-
only that I should quietly endeavour
unnoticed and unknown,  all alone.

There is enough room
in life for me to explore
my duties to do, my dreams to crystallise
all that I can do is my best--no more.

The heart is the beginning
and the end
the world would forget us
but the heart never ceases to be a friend.

Where else in a troubled and sad life
could I bend
but only towards this sanctuary
whose comfort in my every sorrow ever does lend?

Somewhere in time
do you still remember?
I was sixteen and you were fifteen
and you said to me: 'I'll love you forever'.

Somewhere in time
you left me for another
fifty years have taken flight
I really don't want to remember.

I live by the rules of nature and its rhythm I follow
I don't complain whether the weather is cold
or hot--I quietly do my day's job and find solace
in good deeds--I learn from masters of old

to whom I owe the greatest debt
in your diligence you knowledge will grow
I am but the planter of the seeds through my teaching
you will leave here with wisdom and set examples for others to follow

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

HUMAN FRAILTIES
Smiles do not tell the true character
Love is not what it seems
Friendship can be faked
There is deception in dreams


Words hide too many lies
Promises are made to be broken
Who would self-accuse
Condemn words he has spoken?

You say
' my wagon is heavy'
and this is my reply-
' the wrong people you carry--

unload them one by one
you they don't love
they came for a free ride
such people you don't deserve'.

Such a short but simple
and beautiful word---'We'
there would be endless peace and joy
all over---if we think we are all within the same human family

for where the 'I' no longer stultifies
the 'you' whom they and I accept so readily
where we laugh in joy or share one another's sorrow
we'll stand together in fraternity and harmony.

We are the shorelines
watching the ebb and flow of the tides
every wavelet as it ceases reminds
us of life's transitoriness-  only time abides---

the sea is gloriously beautiful
under the summer sky
but its splendour fades away
as winter in its sombre greyness draws nigh.

What is-
is it true?
what is not-
is it false?

To be--
is it better
than not to be?

Isn't not to be
wiser
than to be?

Is it better
to know
or not to know?

Who is poor-
the rich unhappy?
isn't he who is poor, rich?  being happy.

What is-
is it love?
what is not, is it not love?

What is-
is it life?
what is not, is it not life?

We step precariously as it were
on the most slippery floor
of verbiage--what do we really know?

I feel it
and now  
I think I am sure
I know nothing

at the end of things
nothing seems the same
the past in retrospect is but
vestiges of words and memories-
it seemed so real then
but is now shrouded in a cloud
in the most nebulous doubt

yes, I was there
that I don't deny
as I recollect in the present
I could never be sure
(who is sure about life
or the right or wrong of things?
and what is real or unreal?
Who can grasp life's unknowns and mysteries?)

Am I a walking dream?
Is life a mere illusion?

no
it's not about
to be or not to be
or being or non-being
that which I had acted upon
were deeds that had been done
and the past could never be undone
moments that expired
like  rain once fallen
could not be recaptured
even if I were to repent
yet--there's none to judge me
but my own self--
why have remorse then?

we are shadows
we aren't real
(is reality but a hoax?)

All said and done
I conclude-
life is a lacuna
I am nothing
but  a moment in time
and nothing do I know.

Let the mind
be unprejudiced and free
let the heart find its true place
stand aside, be still and reality
will be seen and felt
in a new note and key
the veil is lifted
life assumes clarity
the best lessons are learnt
from compassion, selflessness and charity.

You are so clever
which I'm never
you are street-smart
you excel in this art.

I've no wit
not even a tiny bit
got kicked out from school
my wife filed for divorce: 'Why did I marry this **** fool?'

Is it true-
poets, more than others
weep?

beauty they worship
and if it is blemished or defiled
by man's callousness and indifference-
they lose heart
and even in their sleep
they are inconsolable

there is healing
in tears
despite the anguish
over time and past years.

Is it true
poets, more than others
love?

their yearnings
know no rest
and their passions
fearlessly sweep
over the wildest mountains
and the most tempestuous seas
even the bitterest Arctic

they burn like fire
and melt
every lingering piece of snow
they write across the sky
their poignant and painful poems
' Love is life's most sublime gift
and stronger than death'.

Are poets, more than others
lonely?

dwelling in the universe
of words and feelings
they are strangers to the world
even to themselves
as they struggle to find themselves
and unravel life's multifold mysteries.

Are poets, more than others
melancholic?

they dream of a world
beyond time
wrapped in eternally sweet dreams
only to end
in disillusionment and despair
(reality is too harsh and too cruel-
purveyor of the baneful, mundane
the uninspiring, the inane)

Should poets
be scoffed at

because
they long
for the beautiful and sublime
and draw
everyone's attention
to the ugliness
of the world?

1

Because I don't know
I ask

2
Because I don't  know enough
I don't comment

3

Because things are never constant
I acquire flexibility and adaptability

4

Because I know my territoriality
I don't infringe on my neighbour's rights

5

Because I can't please everybody
I don't fear rejection or disapproval

Emptiness
space infinite
without circumference
it is
boundless
borderless
nameless

being itself
being nothing
it needs no name

being self-sufficient
nothing else it seeks to claim

de nihil, nihil fit
from nothing, nothing comes
that which is empty
has nothing to give

to hold to its own
nothing can it receive

it is a law unto itself
and defines itself not
it does not even know
it is the mystery of mysteries.

'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 !

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

Memory never dies
it lies in hibernation
it springs right before your eyes
triggered by the slightest incident or your imagination--

like a cinema film the past does unreel
with you as the only audience
it cares not about how you feel
it's as though on you the judge is passing his harshest sentence.

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!'

Serious verses often I write
but those I love most
are homely, gentle and light

of mothers feeding
their kids
of them each other kissing

of fathers toiling
in the family farm
bringing home the produce in the evening

of the blue sky shining
on every green field and garden
of flowers in blooming

of birds singing
on every bough
in the glorious morning

of the moon beaming
and the stars
glittering

of young lovers vowing
to be faithful and true
in their lives' sojourning

of the old reminiscing
their youth's most splendid moments
with hearts content in understanding

of laughter vibrating
when  friends of old come together
good cheer sharing

As long as life around me is still encircling
my verses and songs shall still be resounding
life is to be embraced--that's the joy of living.

Old MacDonald had a farm
A very pretty wife too
They had 20 kids
Cows, chickens and ducks quite a few.

Old MacDonald no longer has a farm
He has donated it to charity
Yesterday he won the US Powerball
Total prize of USD 500 million-biggest in US history.

LIFE IN A NUTSHELL

What had been done
Can't be undone
What had not been done--
Temps perdu--can't be done.

Life in a nutshell is about
Doing or not -doing--verily-
Being or not-being
Forget all the high-sounding insipid philosophy.

' Do you understand me?'
A most awkward question to pose
It weakens you and the addressee
Senses your insecurity-- with a sneering nose

Would come the reply:
'What do you take me for--a fool?'
Think before you speak
You command respect when you are sure and cool.

I could find shelter anywhere
even in the cruellest weather
but the sanctuary of your heart
is closed to me and I wonder

why you regard me thus--
did I cause you grief ? Never
did I ever such intend
or have you found another?

If loving you is a sin
then call me the vilest sinner
how would I seek absolution?
I await your order.

This I'll say ere I walk away
You aren't getting any younger
I am desirable, strong, brave and kind
Once I've gone,  you might regret forever.

21

I'm not just here or there
I'm everywhere.

22

This, if you  are patient to wait,  you will know
I dwell within you and you in me--it's eternally so

23

I'm stillness, I'm motion
I'm land, I'm ocean

24

I'm the earth, I'm the sky
I'm low, I'm high

25

I'm The Invisible
I'm The Indivisible.

Not seeing you just for a day
is three autumns long*
since you my love has left a year ago-
that's 1,095# years---do you hear my sad song?

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.

Existing is that state
that links
the present temporality
to the infinity of time

man dangles
between two polarities
he strives and struggles
to understand and too often

he is frustrated and disillusioned
for the larger part of his life
seems shrouded in incomprehensibility --
the monotony, vexation, ennui--even inanity

and there seems no escape
from the meaningless round
of just existing-while time mocks and derides
without a single whit of sympathy.

' 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.

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'.

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.

I was advised by a learned friend
' Live life logically'
I shuddered and thought:
This is not for me

Every situation would then become
A reasoning process: the pros and cons I should consider
Examine every detail lest I regret
Would I have the time? I wonder

'Logic makes your life good', he did add
' You will succeed beyond measure'
   He was a professor of science
   But his advice I didn't treasure.

   See me walking in the green field
   Loitering by the quiet river-side
   Hear me singing a song at a far corner
   I follow my heart---by logic I don't abide

I walked in
none noticed me
I was having a drink
the pub was noisy

then entered a  pretty young lady
and asked: May I sit next to you?-so gently
what's your name?
mine is Lily

I'll buy you a drink--I said
' I'm from far-country
500 miles away
came to see my boy-friend Henry

but he didn't turn up
the neighbour said he had moved away
he broke my heart
what a sad day!

(suddenly her mobile started to ring)
her face brightened up as she spoke: Yes darling
is that really you ? O Henry, O I love you Henry
then rushed to the door--Sir-thanks for the drink!'

The world #has grown# old
before its appointed time
it has about lost its soul
once so noble and sublime.

Upon its brow, pale, wrinkled and cold
is written:  '  I am no longer in my prime
once I was the boldest of the bold
now my every song and verse no longer holds a single rhyme'

Because of memory
hate, more than love, returns to roost
(love knows its place and needs nothing
its steadfast joys to boost).

The gaps of time are closed
the past like a cinema-screen unrolls-
faces, scenes, places, words, dreams
sorrow and pain--each its story unfolds.

Memory like a task-master
wields its well-seasoned whip
its punishment it threatens to unleash
with cuts painful and deep.

Now in my days of decay
yet I've not forgotten-
me you did abandon without a single reason
do you dare ask to be forgiven?

Be thankful
shout for joy
because
'they'
hate, deride
or despise
you

it's
they
vs you

be grateful
as
they
are taking
you
into their reckoning

you
must be
an important guy
or why else
should
they
bother

let
them
vociferate
and vituperate
the more
they
do so
the higher
you
they
rate

it's
your
moment of triumph

you
've caused
them
headaches
heart-aches
sleepless nights
embarrassment
even shame
and discontent

how
they
ache
to see
you
falling down

but
you
look away
you
are silent
and not a word
you
speak
nor care to reply
justify
or explain
you
in so doing
make
them
more uneasy
indeed
you
inflict
endless pain
on
them

the truth is
you
are not to blame
it's
they
who stoke the fire
and it's burning
them

too soon
they
can't take
the strain

frustrated
disappointed
irate
desperate
agitated
in anxiety unabated

they
in despair
throw their hands
in the air
they
give up

you
have conquered
them
with
your
masterly-orchestrated
stand and
contempt.

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

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!