Come, share my dreams
never mind our wrinkles and sunken cheeks
let old age be but a metaphor
our love grows more warm and tender  and the sweetest language speaks.

Come, share my dreams
if there are tears in my eyes, you will understand--you alone
we had laughter, we had many a sorrow
faults that had been (forgive me) were never yours-but my own.

Come, share my dreams
let me lift up my violin from the case
let me sing you the songs you loved most
for your love and devotion I scarcely could find the words to praise.

Come, share my dreams
they are as fresh and beautiful as all the years' gone before
come into the faithful heart that worships you
and all that it can say is:  'With each passing day, I would love you more'.

Come to my dreams
(as you would not speak to me)
chide me then to your heart's content, say the worst
as though I were your  sworn enemy.

Come to my dreams
and declare: ' I never loved you--it's your fancy
remove me forever
from your memory'.

Come to  my dreams
I'll show you the scented letters you once sent me:
'  You've filled my heart with such joy
You are my ecstasy'.

Come to my dreams
Let me show you the photos of you and me
at the back of which you wrote:
' Our love is meant for eternity'.

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.

'People in glass-houses should not throw stones'
What a great piece of advice
Last week I threw a stone at my neighbour's
I've built steel bars all over my house---I am wise.

London Bridge is falling down
Falling down, my fair lady
Now let me tell you
My sad story.

The Aussie market is falling down
Falling down,  I am so unhappy
I'll sing this song no more
I'm caught up in Melbourne's Court of Bankruptcy.

Fishes swim in the sea
Birds fly above
My fair maiden
You were born for me to love.

The last time you said to me
' Don't you ever come near my side'
I should warn you, sweet maiden
Millions of girls like you won't end up as a bride.

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.

Ding **** bell
***** in the well...

But
Let me tell
This fat man's tale was hell.

In Melbourne's city main street named Pell
Into a manhole he fell
It took six men under Brigadier Mac Mell
To rescue him--he survived a trauma but was physically well.

' Dad,  what should I do with my life?
Please advise me'
' Son,  do whatever you may-
But never marry'.

'  Mum, what should I do
  Now that I'm married to Lucy?'
' Son, do what you may
   But never be like your daddy'.

'A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush'
But I never go there
No bird in my hand (what 'two'?)
And tell me, how does one capture a bird in the air?

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.

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?'

There's no place to run to
no place to hide
self is dissolved
disintegrates--the tide

of blame and shame
inundates
and swallows up the sufferer
who struggles and suffocates

no help
is in sight
conscience is sharper
than the knife which with all its might

knows no pity
nor shows respite
this is worse than the execution avenged by an enemy
more cruel than words can describe.

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

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.

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

CREDO

Let me walk
behind everyone
let me hear them talk.

Much would I learn
from what has gone before
patiently I'll wait for my turn.

Then enough would
I've seen and heard
and felt the ongoing mood.

Being last in the queue I could
walk away unnoticed
if the air were foul and the crowd is up to no good.

I've drawn down the curtains
on the window of the past
shadows will no longer linger
in my life--- now that I place all my trust

in being oblivious to all scenes of old
people I met, hurts I suffered, pain endured---let all of this rust
away in my new-found freedom
I can escape from self-inflicted sorrow only if I don't live in the past.

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.

You hear my pretty words
but can't read my mind
deception is my art
I leave truth behind

people love me
they say I am kind
poor believers
truth--blind!

Everyone is consumed at the end
   but sadly
   so many were consumed long before their end

'I thought you were my friend',  I said
    Reply:  '  Sorry,  I am not that person'

Yes, I am your friend
          only insofar
          you don't impinge on my self-interest
           or step on my little toe.

From this, I can tell whether you are happy or unhappy-
how many complaints do you have each day?

However mangy your neighbour's dog is,
don't comment

The deaf and dumb person makes the perfect neighbour.

Take a genuine interest in people but don't get upset if you are snubbed by some---you can't expect everyone to be responsive , considerate or generous in spirit--the world is far from perfect.

But such people-
the mighty, the powerful
the rich, the pseudo- intellectual
the influential
are the most odious

what **** sapiens?
they are the mal-products
of evolution
who bring shame
to the human race
in their inhumanity

bullies
narcissists
items of assorted pathology
but they can't see-
' We are the authority
and can't do wrong'.

In the newspapers
they are the centre-piece
their pride oozes
from their every paw

but time brings down
even the mightiest
and such people end up
as discarded old newspapers
in the dust-bin of history
where they belong so appropriately.

They say :
discard the old
herald in the new
we are  easily misled
unless we are vigilant
we would be fooled

the new
is too often
a disguised
and revised version
of the old

but the vendors
of merchandise
the purveyors
of ideas and doctrines
are sugar-coaters
and how easily
we become suckers


they say
reject
and be ashamed
of the old
(people are watching you
  how deplorable and wretched
you look clinging to what went before
you are archaic and out-of-step
with the modern era--no wonder
you are frowned upon
and become the laughing-stock of those around you)

but I hold my ground
and to such I reply
I like the old clothes and shoes I wear
my little cottage known to none in the faraway
I love my old-fashioned values
honesty, compassion, tolerance, humility
fair-play,  tradition, decency,  loyalty and poverty

I am self-sufficient
in every way
and what you sell
I wouldn't buy
nor to your sweet words subscribe
lest they cause my moral demise
so leave me alone
to my old ways
and my quiet life
I am doing superbly fine.

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 !)

Does the fool
have a brain?
you snob, you brute
I'll box you if you say this again!

Does the fool have any friend
under the sun?
being self-sufficient and away from the world's madness
he really needs none

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.

Do I need to explain?
Would anyone be keen to hear?
Nothing would change
everyone holds their own interest more dear

and time the restless sentinel
speeds its way on its incessant round
each life is a microcosm in struggle
hidden in some little corner from where hardly is heard a sound.

Don't love me much
a little bit will do me fine
just say to me a few words--such-
'You'll always be mine'.

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!'

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

Do you choose your dreams
or are they ****** upon you?
most of us seem unsure
it's what dreams do

that is the source of mystery
for you become a person bold and new
transcending life's banality and finding
a stronger and clearer voice--that of the reborn you.

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 elderly-they
have dreams too
like the young

but
when they get up
they don't want to recall

not with the young
who want to go back to sleep again
their dreams are real
and they can't let  go--
love so tempting
beauty so alluring
passions so compelling
hopes so promising
(between the dreaming and waking
is a thin line--miracles in the making?)
'Those who dare dream
transmute sand into gold
and what could be stronger than the ardour of youth' ?
they claim

here is where the difference lies:

the dreams of old age are angst-full
burnt-out and decaying fields
that have swallowed once red -blooming roses
and left behind a trail of desolation and tears
( dreams that return but to mock and chastise)

dreams are partial to youth
and resurrect to punish the old

Let your dreams be few
too many would confuse
even one or two
(though small and homely) would do--wisely choose.

Many have dreams-wild and foolish
which but dazzle for a while --- only
to sadly fade away---there's nothing left to cherish
but a trail of regret and misery.

There are those who are more enamoured
of dreams than reality
wherein lie their secret longings
cradled in imagination and fantasy--

to be in love with someone they had never met
to surrender to a face, a smile, a kiss,  a moment of ecstasy
beyond the pale of insipid daily living--
far transcending every earthly beauty.

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 same echo of an old song
drifts every midnight through my window
it will not leave me alone--I know not why-
every note seems to sigh in sorrow

but I have no tears
for the long-lost past
as youth is but a forgotten blissful dream
the poet speaks lies when he says that love does forever last.

Einstein was great for his relativity theory
  but so naive in matters of matrimony
  Shouldn't  we say then his emotional intelligence was really low?
  This must have dealt his E=MC squared a deadly blow!

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.

Maples in red and deep yellow
It's end of Australian autumn
Birds fly to warmer skies
Nights are sombre and solemn.

I look through the window
Waiting for your quick return--all I hear
Is but the faint rustling of leaves
And the wailing of the wind--where are you, my sweetest dear?

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.

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.