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.

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.

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.

Too much of serious verse I've written
It's time I tried the comic
But it's just as hard
I don't know the trick.

A professor of poetry in Melbourne said to me:
' Enrol yourself in the School Of Comic Verse-
You were not born a writer
It can't do you any worse'

The music of late autumn
is solemn, subdued and melancholic drifting
through silent trees and falling leaves
birds take to wings and cease their singing even before evening

while the moon and stars
seem weary and are trembling
how many hearts tonight are lonely and forlorn
in their secret yearning?

1

Because of my past failures
I analyse my mistakes.

2

Because life is hard
I should not make the lives of others any harder

3

Because I take no one's side in any dispute
I am free from blame.

4

Because I discard trivia and non-essentials
I perform more effectively

5

Because I know my limitations
I focus on sharpening the edges of my competence

..... but, in the dark,
light, however weak,  flickers somehow
(though we know not its source-
it matters not)
and robs the night
of its complete control-

we might fumble
but would not fall
and that's consolation enough.

If we have faith
in the light
it would brighter glow
as it is in direct conversation
with us---and does know
where our hearts yearn to go
while darkness lurks nearby
but is powerless in limbo.

Each heart is a candle
waiting to be kindled
even a droplet of light-dust
will set it aflame.

Even in the darkest night
there is a light, however weak
to guide and befriend you
are you that person who lives
in the light?

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.

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

Know when to speak
and when to refrain
think before words leave your mouth
lest you incur wrath and pain

Study the situation
is it timely to speak or refrain?
have you considered every angle
or should you think again?

I am a little child still
in life's kindergarten
learning my ABCs, how to talk
to communicate--every lesson

I cherish--I am so eager to know more
I love the sound of words-their beauty
each is like music to me
above all, I love poetry

But you say to me:
' Your learning is well over--you are too old'
my reply: 'I can't help it--it grows within me
I must move forward before time turns me cold'.

I am a child still
my heart beats wildly
when the sky, the stars, the roses,
the clouds, the ocean and the fields I see.

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?'

LOVE’S PARADISE LOST

Paradise lost
love shall come no more
ashes have consumed
every blissful moment that has gone before.

There is no comfort
in tears
the past is buried
in the nowhere of a million years.

Easy? hardly-
even taking a step
at a time forward
calls for unusual courage

for
old habits die hard

as
the self has been concretised
for too long--immobility
holds the reins--change
hangs over like an unwelcome
stale, wet and prickly blanket

doubt* and fear
makes the limbs tremble
( adults are no better than kids
  when they sense uncertainty
imaging dangers that aren't there)

' It's better to stay put
on safe and sure ground'

He who doesn't have the courage
to put his foot forward
will be nailed to the spot
where he's rooted
ending as less than a man
while time and fair chances
bid him good-bye
with an unsympathetic look
and downright scorn

he has to turn
his face away
to hide himself
from the light of day.

I can only teach you what I know
if I don't know, I seek to know
and I'll tell you what I don't know
that's the only way I can grow

in understanding--to lie
to myself and to you is worst than to die
that is the reason why
I never cease to strive and  try

Philosophy I don't value much
but more the human heart
philosophers are selfishly speculative
too eager their theories to expound and impart

Ignore not the common man
whose life is by his myriad experiences profoundly marked
carved from the stone of suffering and pain
infinitely more poignant than the world where philosophy has embarked.

It would not be enough
to fall in love and love but how
to keep this flame alive
it's easy to assume now

'  All will be fine
we'll love each other forever'
love's journey is hurtful
often painful--never

should the lovers forget:
real tests are just to begin
(the honeymoon is over)
would their love turn cold and thin?

Love is not everlasting sweetness
as the poets would have lovers believe
millions of tears would need to fall
and would need time for healing or relief.

Inside it does stifle
and suffocate
I want it out
fresh air I need--before it's too late.

I am not made
for an inside-something man
freedom has been my most faithful friend
as the world and people I scan.

Don't get me wrong
no misanthrope am I
beauty is in the open air
not in shut-doors--I shouldn't die

before I've tasted life's sweetest wine
don't lock me in--the room is loud, smoky, *****
dim, the carpets sting, cigarette-butts all over
the tap doesn't run,  people are rude--being out is the way for me.

Because I don't know
and know I don't know
it saves me from putting up
a stupid and self-stultifying show.

You thought I knew
(what a mistake you did make!)
But I knew you knew far more than I did know
I held back and my folly I did forsake.

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.

1

Because I wait
what I desire comes in the fullness of time

2

Because I control my impulse
I avoid rash decisions

3

Because I share the sorrows of others
I acquire humanity

4

Because I share
richer is my life

5

Because I count myself less
I acquire humility

Too often the heart can do what the brain can't and puts the grey matter to sleep---it has no limits and is free as the wind, it is spaceless and encircles the whole universe.  It is a mystery beyond the brain's finiteness.

THE HEART OR THE BRAIN?

In my youth I held
the brain to be superior to all
the seat of all wisdom
and the university dons said: 'the call

of genius lies
in grey matter-
nowhere else--you students should know
lest you academically falter'.

I wore my degree
on my sleeve
I could talk my way through
it only brought grief.

I found through the years and tears
reasoning and logic was dry as leaves in decay
I learnt to laugh and smile, I smelled the flowers
I talked to kids, I tried to write poetry and in every way

my childish innocence and wonder
returned and I was transformed and born again
I began to feel and understand life's mysteries
its wondrous  joys and its every deep pain

and how profound was peace and contentment
(who ever dared say ' Knowledge is the end-
the door to bliss?'   Trust not lofty philosophy
it's a cynic, a joy-destroyer and not a friend).

My heart is with me every moment
and with it I converse and only in it I place all my trust
my brain is arrogant, without warmth and obtrusive
garrulous and obtrusive---say goodbye to it I must.

This is the voice of The Sublime:

11  I can't save you from your pain
     From your sufferings life's toughest lessons you might gain

12

         Your wisdom means nothing to me
         Your worth is in your piety

13
         The strong should protect the weak
         It's through what they do that their nobility does speak

14

               Happiness is not your right--never--
               You do yourself wrong demanding to be happy--forever?

15

               Life is a shadow
               Its mysteries you will never know.

Today holds you captive
you can hardly escape
tomorrow is still asleep
oblivious to what you do now or shape.

Today stares right in your face
(every thought and action of yours it does tape)
can you free yourself from its clutch?
only if you have an invincible mind-scape.

When and how shall I be
'  wholly I'?
a dumb question

to me
to be whole
would be a cul-de-sac
a full-stop
a coda
a nightmare
as I won't be able then
to go anywhere
to grow
and would not even know
my real self-
I have been too used
to my not being 'whole'-
I delight in being what I am
in my not being complete.

Because I am not
'wholly I'
I would still be able
to flirt and play with life
pull its ears and retain
my innocence and incompleteness
dance and run with it
in mirth
and that makes
for joy
for freedom
for spontaneity
and real living.

Being 'whole'
then
would unmake me
and turn me into
what I desire not.

I don't want
to be a fake
of a human being
I want to be incomplete.

There's no perfect moon
no perfect sky
no perfect stars
no perfect rose
no perfect poem
no perfect beauty
no perfect happiness
no perfect love

for
what has become
loses the grandeur
of the coming-to-be.

Life should not be
a final summation
but an unfinished equation-
work-in-progress
that shall never be
a finished product-
that's where the wonder is--
the song still being sung
is more beautiful
and more desired
than when it has ended.

I don't want
to be the perfect I
the perfect man-
to be in that state
would make me inhuman.

You, whether a friend or not
if we should meet
just regard me
as a person incomplete.

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

Old age is not being
young but look at its luxuriant tree
where its fruits have ripened
and its leaves are still as green
it's the same breeze as of old
blowing above its head
and the sky is as blue
and bird-songs by night
are still as sweet
as reminders
that all life is wrapped in rapture
and earth has not lost its pristine  music and grandeur

each stage of life has its  untold splendour
only that the heart must feel and embrace love
and the mind be free and hasn't given up
in despondency (I've had enough of this chagrin-
drop that line)
say instead--
I love life and its endless beauty
I would still bathe in its sea of wondrous delight
I would bask under the sun amidst the dancing flowers
have conversation with the moon and stars late at night
I would still sing the songs I love
and give life to my violin- lest it thinks I have lost faith-
with my shaky hands I would write a poem or two-
never mind if they are frowned upon by others
I would still smile despite the wrinkles on my face
and my grey hair so conspicuous to the eye
I would share in the laughter of youth
among the middle-aged mingle
and with those in my twilight years
laugh at the folly and pride of my early days
and hear their stories spoken
with slow and subdued voices
but no less poignant

I am alive and not left behind
I am there in the arena of life
though not as a player
but  only a spectator

if you do see a silent tear
dropping from my eyes
just know-
it's the tear of gratitude and joy

In the corridors of knowledge
the scholars and the smart loudly argue and proudly sit
I tremble when I walk by and don't dare raise an eye
as I know I've none of their wit

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

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

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

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

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

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

Enough of the moon and stars
of serenades sung under the moonlight
of wines spilled on the floor
of passionate kisses late after midnight.

Night is a heartless seducer
tricky games on lovers it does play
how many hearts has it misled?
how many has fallen  prey?

Enough of make-believe
of dreams doomed to perdition
of promises to be broken
of vows that will fade into oblivion.

Who says life is  never-ending romance
love is meant for eternity?
so many poets had been unhappy in love
they assuaged their agony through heartbreak poetry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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'.

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

6
The Sublime knows every heart
From their joys and sorrows she never stands apart

7

She shares the joys of those who are happy
She weeps with the forlorn, neglected, the forgotten and the lonely

8    
       None sees her tears but so often in silence she does weep
       Like a guardian she watches over everyone awake or in sleep

9
         When the stars, the moon, the sea and all nature have fallen asleep
         She keeps night company and her vigilance she does unfailingly keep.

10     She keeps in her secret drawer a diary
        Every human event she records faithfully

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.

The best place
to be
is no place anywhere
it's within me

the space
that's within me
has no face
it's my invisible identity

How can I be my own accuser?

The same bird sings in my garden
   as the morning sun its splendour spreads
   some flowers are in unabashed blossom
   the old lemon-tree some yellow leaves sheds

  a butterfly from nowhere
  settles on a rose motionless and serene
  I am writing this poem looking from my room
  the day's beauty has unfolded with such an unforgettable scene

BECAUSE I LIE

Because I lie
you will catch me somehow
some day
though not now

I would give
myself away because I would slip
at that critical moment
my cunning I can't always keep

though I had triumphed
many a time--in many a place
the mask must fall down
and what I inherit would only be disgrace

but I'm used
to telling every lie--I can't stop
I have become my own victim
and at the end I must lonely sob.

It suits them
if I walk away
they would make sure
I don't stay

and this is the worst cut-
they would then say
'That man is a coward
He hasn't the courage to stay'.

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.

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.

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

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!'

The world is full of wise people
grant me that I be a fool
sadly I can't take lessons from such
myself alone I must school.

How I value my ignorance
wisdom has never been my domain
in the daily classroom of life
I learn word by word, again and again.

Each word speaks to me
more endearing than any teacher can
like a little child I listen to its voice
so tender and kind --never had I heard such from any man.

The world is full of wise men
but to that corridor I could never belong
grant me that I'd never my ignorance disown
only that I should not do wrong.

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

You say you know
how do you know you know?
who are the people who say so?

but others know
you don't know
but don't want to let you know
that they know

while you don't know
others do know
that you don't know

thus, not knowing
you don't know
does (in the eyes of others) show
you are foolish and shallow

while they who know
that you don't know
will use what they know
to exploit your weakness
wherever you are or wherever you go

your life's battle is lost because
you don't know
that you don't know

and by the time you wake up
from your not-knowing
to knowing
the show is over
and you are left with
NOTHING!

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

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

No, not discontent
but the consuming fire
that rushes through the veins
to allow words
to find their voice
in the poetry-land
of the heart and mind

here is the culmination
the distillation
the illumination
of the poet's finest thoughts
and feelings
where experiences
gained
through every life's passage
come to blend together
to find utterances
so mysterious and profound
as to be beyond
his human comprehension.

Is the poet
a chosen breed?

He asks himself
but knows not.

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