We are all escapists
one way or another
moments overcome us
to our moods we surrender

comfort to seek
wounds and bruises to heal
courage and patience to renew
while past scenes their unwelcome presence reveal.

We are all escapists
one way or another
life is indifferent and takes no sides
we laugh and we cry, we rejoice and we suffer.

Believe not those who proudly declare
they are the invincible optimists
when the tides of life rock their boats their hearts sink
overnight they would turn miserable pessimists.

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!

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

Everyone is a wanderer
so few find their hearts' desire
the winds their fury unleash
the sun burns like wild fire.

There's no resting place
only slippery rocks, sharp ascents and mire
but there's no turning back
though the prospect is dire.

There's no food or water
for the hungry and thirsty wanderer
the night sky palely looks from asunder
the stars are weary and lose their glitter.

Everyone is a wanderer
destiny is the driver
but none wants to be a loser
this defines him in his perilous splendour.

Faces in the crowd
among which I am one
each heart silently bears its joys and sorrows
the business of living is never done

as we have to wake up everyday
with the never-failing rising sun
(even the weakest, frailest and most sickly)
though the day's prospects are grim and life isn't fun.

Holding on, clinging on
dangling in the limbo
of survival and existence
what the future holds none really does know.

Faces in the crowd
passing and fading images--I know no one-
yet I feel their pulses as I, mine--- murmurs
of existential* angst---until life's sad drama is done.

FANTASY

I am the tiny, lonely pebble
on the distant shore
you are the rising tide
I am waiting for

to find and carry me
to the passionate and endless sea
let me then drown in your slivery
*****--in your kisses I would die blissfully.

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

1

The race is won not by the fastest
but by the one who is the wisest.

2
None can control the growth of population
'tis due to ubiquitous copulation

3

Note: knowledge does not set you free
the best path is through honesty

4  
      Hurry, hurry, hurry
      today's great malady

5
      In the club your friends were laughing at you
      They whispered 'Stale jokes, nothing ever new'

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

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

1
Roses are asleep
under a calm autumn sky
night breezes drift by

2

Under the ocean
a hidden world of its own
beauty beyond words

3

Under the lamp-post
a woman anxiously waits
it is past midnight

4

Cyclist in the night
riding across a steep hill
no one is in sight

5

City bars are closed
the waiters are rushing home
it is two a.m

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?' #

1

'Practise your piano'
little girl is none too pleased
a silent tear drops

2

Winds in the desert
chase the sand into the air
camels shut their eyes

3

No stars in the sky
the moon hides behind grey clouds
the autumn winds sigh

4

Winds over the waves
a seagull catches a fish
a dinghy sails by

5

Late spring evening
a cottage stands on a hill
old man smokes his pipe

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

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

1

You asked me
' Why does a bird sing?'
May I ask you
'  Can a bird fly with one wing?'

2
My friend is a philosopher
And this he said to me: Life is neither black nor white'
But I am illiterate and all I know is that
Life is just day and night.

3  

Why do you chuckle
Just because your neighbour's new Benz had a knock?
Why are you so churlish and callous
Are you a human being or an unfeeling rock?

4

Her shoes did not fit
Too large were her feet--she was frantic
None to blame but her cobbler-husband
Who had not acquired the requisite shoe-making technique.

5

Some have *** once a month, others weekly
Yet others everyday--what does it matter
To you? Let people be-
Why do you bother? You are an outsider!

FLOWERS ARE FALLING INTO A FLOWING STREAM

Flowers are falling into a moving stream
Each petal tells a tale of youth’s beauty and innocence lost
How little does youth know what the poets have written-
‘Those who love deepest do suffer most’.

Youth says---‘Purest love and sweetest dreams are mine
They shall never fade away-so my heart tells me
Time shall not my joys and pleasures ravage
In the bowers of love I will abide eternally’.

How harsh and merciless is  time
Nothing remains the same forever
Even love knows pain and sorrow
Even the most beautiful dreams disappear.

Flowers are falling—petal by petal
Into the heartless moving stream
Oblivious to love’s lamentation
And the loss of its fondest dream

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.

Forgetting
is harder
than remembering
the past has secret powers
and spellbinds you
it makes you
a captive
and demands attention:
surely you can't forget this?

in the far horizon
of your mind
dim and fuzzy at first
then the images
coalesce into visible forms
they stare right in your face
and you become
the past tense

none
indeed nothing
is stronger than the past

'I have forgotten the past'
who says that?
isn't that person
telling a lie?

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

It's harder to be not
     than to be
     yet the former
     makes me truly happy

Don’t compare with others
only
compare yourself with the standards you have set for yourself

The first lie is the hardest
all others
are easy

I should not say:
Let me understand life first  before I start living
but rather:
Let me live life first before I start to understand it.

Between courage and patience,
I choose the latter as it is more enduring.

The intellectuals can't claim
that they know more about life than the common people-
it is plausible that the latter may know more than the former
through their unique experiences, intuition and innate insight.

Beggars beg in the open#
       all others beg in thousands of ways that are unseen by the world

One word
saved my life:
Enough

Most people seem to be chasing
   the things that mean least
   in the garden of life they ignore the flowers
   on the weeds their eyes instead feast

This is common---too common--
                  You said this of another:  'Your arm-pit stinks'
                  He hit back in equal measure:
                  'Mind your bad breath'

Since ignorance is bliss
why should I care about knowledge?

Don't say: I want love
instead say: How much love can I give?

By all means, be harsh with yourself
but
be gentle towards others, even to the undeserving

A flicker of light
is not seen or felt in the day
but shows its glitter
at night

Is this true in the lives of so many?
        ' I'm so busy
        Minding the matters of others
        I've no time left for me'

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.

But what is perfection? Can something be perfected---a novel, a poem, a symphony, a play, a dance, a painting, an invention…?

It seems to me 'perfection' is not achievable but only looms as a benchmark against which we subjectively measure our works.

It is in the realisation that what we have done is imperfect that we strive for a higher achievement----

most of us do that but as for me I never ever dare to think that what I have done is good enough--- it is a just a step forward.

Pessimism, to me, is to be preferred to optimism.
I have planned my life based on this belief since my young days up to old age and have come to realise that what I am and the small measure of success I have been able to achieve has been due to this choice.
Pessimism is more close to the pulse of reality in the face of life's uncertainties and vicissitudes.

The pessimist plans well ahead and has a contingency plan but not the optimist who is left high and dry when his plans don't work out-
he has no resources to cope in these eventualities.
( I was happy to read, after my diary entry,  that a scientific study published in 2015 came to the same conclusion--the article was entitled
THE DOWN-SIDE OF OPTIMISM).

Being pessimistic hasn't dampened my love for living---the quality of my life has not changed--I am stronger and happier--thanks to my pessimism.

I know many would disagree---each unto thy own--whatever suits you, that you must espouse.

The truth will not set you free-
it will disgust you.

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.

Genius is surrounded
by mystery
the owner asks:
Should I be happy
or am I an object
of pity?

I'm burdened
by its weight
which is crushing me

I'm not free
no longer my old self--
dejected and unhappy-
even my friends are behaving strangely
no longer desiring my proximity
it's as though nothing of life's joys I could claim
I'm overpowered
by a force that I can't name

the voice within torments me
day and night
it wouldn't leave me even for a moment
and I've no place to hide:
' you're the chosen one
and there's no escape
from your duty-
the world is waiting
watching
expecting
demanding
and this is the journey
you alone and you only
must take
not just for your own sake
but the whole of humanity'

Genius
the greatest mystery
how tragic the lives of so many
as  recorded by history.

Goodbyes
even for a while
bring tears to my eyes

Partir, c'est mourir un peu--it's true
each time a little we die
but life is such--what else could we do?

This I do know
every moment we should love and cherish
before we pack up our bags to go

to our next destination in life--faraway
who does know whether we would meet again
on a distant future day?

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' 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.

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

Snakes hide under the grass
crocodiles and sharks under the sea
lions, tigers and leopards have their unknown lairs
where's your hiding place? Tell me.

You aren't my friend for sure
yet I count you not as an enemy
but something's lurking inside you
I can sense--it's about me and I've to be  vigilant and wary.

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!

You hold love too tightly
it rebels and says: 'Let me be free'
letting go is the greatest wisdom-verily-
if lovers are to be happy.

Each unto their own in liberty
and yet each is drawn closer in harmony
love is not meant to be one's monopoly
but letting the other to flower into utmost beauty.

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.

The leaders say they have all the answers
then why is the world in such a sad mess?
are they wise or are they fools?
I have no wisdom and nothing to address