Philosophically, Camus is known for his conception of the absurd. Perhaps we should clarify from the very beginning what the absurd is not. The absurd is not nihilism. For Camus the acceptance of the absurd does not lead to nihilism (according to Nietzsche nihilism denotes the state in which the highest values devalue themselves) or to inertia, but rather to their opposite: to action and participation. The notion of the absurd signifies the space which opens up between, on the one hand, man’s need for intelligibility and, on the other hand, 'the unreasonable silence of the world' as he beautifully puts it. In a world devoid of God, eternal truths or any other guiding principle, how could man bear the responsibility of a meaning-giving activity? The absurd man, like an astronaut looking at the earth from above, wonders whether a philosophical system, a religion or a political ideology is able to make the world respond to the questioning of man, or rather whether all human constructions are nothing but the excessive face-paint of a clown which is there to cover his sadness. This terrible suspicion haunts the absurd man. In one of the most memorable openings of a non-fictional book he states: “There is but one truly serious philosophical problem and that is suicide. Judging whether life is or is not worth living amounts to answering the fundamental question of philosophy. All the rest – whether or not the world has three dimensions, whether the mind has nine or twelve categories – comes afterwards. These are games; one must first answer” (Camus 2000:11). The problem of suicide (a deeply personal problem) manifests the exigency of a meaning-giving response. Indeed for Camus a suicidal response to the problem of meaning would be the confirmation that the absurd has taken over man’s inner life. It would mean that man is not any more an animal going after answers, in accordance with some inner drive that leads him to act in order to endow the world with meaning. The suicide has become but a passive recipient of the muteness of the world. “...The absurd ... is simultaneously awareness and rejection of death” (Camus 2000:54). One has to be aware of death – because it is precisely the realization of man’s mortality that pushes someone to strive for answers – and one has ultimately to reject death – that is, reject suicide as well as the living death of inertia and inaction. At the end one has to keep the absurd alive, as Camus says. But what does it that mean?

In The Myth of Sisyphus Camus tells the story of the mythical Sisyphus who was condemned by the Gods to ceaselessly roll a rock to the top of a mountain and then have to let it fall back again of its own weight. “Sisyphus, proletarian of the gods, powerless and rebellious, knows the whole extent of his wretched condition: it is what he thinks of during his descent. The lucidity that was to constitute his torture at the same time crowns his victory. There is no fate that cannot be surmounted by scorn” (Camus 2000:109). One must imagine then Sisyphus victorious: fate and absurdity have been overcome by a joyful contempt. Scorn is the appropriate response in the face of the absurd; another name for this 'scorn' though would be artistic creation. When Camus says: “One does not discover the absurd without being tempted to write a manual of happiness” (Camus 2000:110) he writes about a moment of exhilarated madness, which is the moment of the genesis of the artistic work. Madness, but nevertheless profound – think of the function of the Fool in Shakespeare’s King Lear as the one who reveals to the king the most profound truths through play, mimicry and songs. Such madness can overcome the absurd without cancelling it altogether.

•

Your love is as sweet as the sugar,
                   That  I've been addictively indulging,
             For so many years.



        Every piece of you,
                      Is just the most gratifying that I have tasted!




                                   But when together we've been drowned with tribulations,





                                    You just gave up rapidly...






And dissolved!




                                   Integrating and going with the flow,

                         Of those torments and allurements,




Now where are you?




You are now a part of those afflictions that drowned you,


                                            I can still taste your sweetness,


                      Every time I sip through the trials,
                                That we've face,
          Resulting to weaken your knees,
    And been defeated,




       I was totally in great pain,


        To know that your love,

Can be just greatly surmounted,

                            By miseries in life,



But what can I do?

                                            I fight, you relinquish,


And until then,

You just become a memory,

Of an achingly baleful chronicles of my life.


                      © Earl Jane
                         ♥ E.J.C.S.

Orange hazards blink in gloom
Autumn mist in early light,
Traffic cones direct the flow
Attenuators keep it tight.
Through the mist construction looms
A mighty swath comes into sight
A structure massive, incomplete
Sweeps past the Birdcage portal light.

Burrowed deep within the Park
Surmounted by its stark white beams,
The tunnel curves towards the Bridge
To emerge near the Victory screens.
Symmetry in huge largess
Biblical in size and form,
Built by puny hands of flesh
Man inspired, conceived and born.

Columns in the concrete mass
Loom as sentries, side by side,
Level in majestic sweep
Through the tunnel’s corner glide.
Massive beams locked overhead
Cap the roof’s gigantic clasp,
Reinforced by gridlocked steel
Bound within the concrete’s grasp.

Mounds of blue, congealed wet clay
Layered in an old sea bed,
Hauled away from ancient crib
By Fletcher excavators red.
Roaring diesel truck and tray
Loaded overburden high,
Water blasted ***** and span
Keeping highways clean and dry.

Monstrous cranes with hanging rig
Lower weights of ponderous steel,
Gently to the tunnel base
Led by Dogman’s coaxing feel.
Urgency in every move
Hard hats drill with diamond core,
Fixing massive panel slabs
To the looming concrete’s bore.

Well below incoming tide
Pounded by the drenching rain,
Four inch pumps snake to the sump
Ensuring flood control’s maintained.
Foremen bark and keep control
Hard hats share a secret smile,
Safety first for every man
Think before you lift that pile.

Gate girls smile at passers bye
Politely chiding those who stray,
Holding up a halting hand
With trucks inbound in hazards way.
Smoko at the Bowling Club
Murmur of a hundred souls,
Grubby in their hi vis vests
Munching on the caterers rolls.

Morale amongst the working men
Is high because they feel the cause,
A project that is so worthwhile
They KNOW that it  deserves applause.
Traffic roars above it all
Passing in a steady stream,
Brake lights on the viaduct
Cop cars flash and sirens scream.

This project has a consciousness
A Heart, a mind, a soul.
And an inspirational spirit
Which guides us to the goal.
To eliminate the bottleneck
In Auckland's traffic day
And to streamline the system
Of our vehicular motorway.

Politicians snarl right now
Champing at the huge expense,
But by next year’s finish date
Congratulations will commence.
The jewel in the crown they say
Is found within our park of green,
The Victoria Park Tunnel, friend,
Is a true magnificence, to be seen.


Marshalg
Victoria Park Tunnel
5 February 2011

The attendees are told, in a manner befitting a high mass
You have been finally set free,
(Although, in truth, free is a very large and entirely vague word),
And the message is sent forth from all comers in all corners:
Vendor and visionary alike,
German socialists who left university to ride boats for Greenpeace,
First lieutenants doing their level best
To appear at ease in civilian polos and khakis,
But no matter the vessel,
The message is still the same.  
The tyranny of cables and storage space is dead,
It is all but shouted from the lecterns,
(Although it is noted, in small print and sotto voce
That there are certain requirements
In terms of hardware and licensing)
And it is stated by Those Who Know
In tones which neither brook nor invite contradiction,
That they have surmounted, all Hadrian-like,
The alpine divide separating mere data and magic.

Two or three blocks down the street from the convention center,
In a narrow storefront housing an exhibition of ether-only comics
Which have broken the nettling constraints
Of editors and syndication,
There sits, under a somewhat opaque
And slightly scratched piece of plexiglass,
A yellowing comic strip of uncertain vintage,
In which a frowzy cat,
Free of the constraints of panels, gender, and standard grammar,
Is the recipient of a mouse-tossed brick
Whose flight, unfettered by physics, probablility, indeed time itself
Ends striking its mark right between the x’s of the eyes
The projectile itself an inexplicable alchemy
Of confusion, mirth, frustration
And the impossibility of an undeniably pure love.

Supporting your chest
Avoiding dismount
Tied to a stirrup leather

Cocksurely ordering me
Overturned on my back
Oh please stop the chatter

I name it a ride
You call it a game
Cutout heart on a platter

For the very last time
You're allowing my ego
To feast on your anti-matter

I am of no use, is what it tells me.
That I have nothing special, and that
I am nothing compared to those around
me is the truest lie I was ever told.
It allows me to be soluble
in the lives and achievements of  others.
The individual pieces of me dissolve
into insignificant, infinitesimal specks
that serve no purpose, and amount to nothing.
Anything I do - any talents I have - will be surmounted by those
who are more than I could ever wish to be.
Alone I am whole, where the love I keep under my
sheets and between my arms tells me
she values me.
But out there - out there in the world
I am of no importance and
infinite expendability.

As I stare, deeper and deeper,
Into the abyss, before me,
It all becomes quite clear,
That the abyss was just a mirror.

Staring blindly into myself,
Made me realize how empty I am,
Not to mention how broken,
But that's best left unspoken.

I am empty, and broken,
Like a car on the side of the highway,
Or better yet, a black hole;
I have a body, but lack a soul.

I am an abyss of darkness,
I am empty and useless to all,
I haven't surmounted to much at all,
It's because of you; you made me fall.

Across the blistered gibber plain where flies die in the sand
Through swamps of prickly sago where rotting death is planned,
To stride in windblown tussock hills where wind vanes carved their say
To saunter groves of green tree fern where moa giants did play.
In clearings cut with alkali, tusked elephant would loom
With crevassed hides, Methuselah, once aged in terms of doom.
Whilst high above the rocky crags of ancient mountain high,
The keening screech of kestral soaring up to deep blue sky.

Heavy boots in crusted sand where tiny lizards flee
Amidst the rust red rubble of volcanic rock and scree,
To clamber up the ignimbrite, great Vulcan's steps of stone,
Encrusted with thick epiphyte in lichen's mossy home.
Up into the altitude where dark cloud clusters here
And the threat of rolling thunder indicates that rain is near,
Torrential in it's downpour with sudden squall of gale
Surmounted, all quite suddenly, with a blinding blast of hail.

Staggering to shelter in a tiny alpine hut
To find hot coffee on the woodstove and a curvy, hot young ****,
To find us frollicking together beneath a patterned patchwork quilt
Was quite beyond my imagination's comprehensions built?
And afterwards in slumber through the curtains of our room
I watched, in fascination, at a hanging, frozen moon
And wondered, in amazement, at the doings of the day
And speculated, sleepily, where tomorrow's prospects lay.

Blearily I stretch out from the covers, nicely warm
To nullify persistence of that alarm's intruding horn,
Yawning into morning I remove myself from bed
With panicked realisation....all dreams evacuate my head.
Vanished are the alpine hut, the dolly bird, the caves
The crash of rolling thunder and the plunge of mighty waves,
Gone are those phantoms which dwelt inside my mind
Devestatingly dismissed until re-dreamed another time.

M.
Pukehana Paradise
13 December 2014

The fuse towards self destruction has finally been lit
it’s a slow burn to the moment to where i finally quit,
i’ve had everything I’ve ever wanted, yet not needed
I’ve sat listening to these demons whispering
as i pleaded for them to stop,
I’ve made a name for myself within this city
one that drips across my sanity and carves
paths for demons to tip toe to the back of my mind
and surface whenever i seem to find
a situation of serenity, or an instance robbing identity,
numbness has conquered inclination with help
from lacking reciprocation,
a scarred back easing into a bed
with dangling threads from a home knitted
form of stability, a bed that straps any form
of mobility, leaving a struggling being
beneath the shackles that confine
a mind that finds time to rewind to when
sleep was sheep counted and not a moment
where peace was surmounted by nihility,
where the only versatility comes within
which ways are easier to **** me.
each day awoken leaves the demons’
mutters unspoken
aesthetics show nothing but a painted
demeanour that dredges only when
the edges of the bed tremor as the
pillows inhale every scream and plea,

mornings are mournings for
how much I died the day before
and how each night brings
awakening as nothing to ever adore,
paralyzed limbs, everyday, find way
to slide off the mattress,
stand up feeling backless,
stare to my hands and see
shakes as the burden of
consciousness snakes its
way through aspirations
like rolling fog that weakens
foundations for social relations,

step out the door to broken
pavement, and whistling trees
that shower leaves to the dampened
green, bringing the melody of
tires to wet gravel
crushing the goal to unravel
this falsified disposition
writing todays edition of
“why the **** didn’t I stay in bed”

the sun goes down with the *****
so smooth to my throat keeping this body
staying afloat for one more night,
bottle after bottle, drink again and
feel this swaying ocean of liquor
rip an anesthetic of amnesia
knowing i can never please her,

the time has finally come where
i dip my hands into the keyboard
and plea for a release as my
eyes hide under a blanket
of stained glass masking
a pained past;
toxins flow slowly to my brain
through the uneasy flow of
each vain, poising every figment
of liver, as I ***** up every promise
I failed to deliver

The years have not been very kind to you. You look older than your 26 years, haggard, cracked. Your hair is close cut, but you're nearly bald now. You once said it was from stress, but I remembered the genes carry from a mother's father, and I almost ask, then remember you never knew your mother. The only grandfather you can remember was cruel and drunk, and poured whiskey on a beetle while your uncles laughed. Your eyes are still those of a frightened child, a well-like soul, lit with some insane fire. You're thinner than I remember, but still not thin enough to fit into your dress blues. Where are they now, I wonder? Probably in the house that never felt like home, sheathed in plastic, smelling of cigarette and marijuana smoke. You're smoking again. I watched you leaning against your old truck, talking to someone, flicking the **** into the grass. I entertain the idea of stopping to speak to you, some primal urge of a broken heart. The broken heart that isn't sure if it still loves you, or your memory, split and driven by the reminder that some things simply aren't meant to be, no matter what the books say.
My heart leaps to race again, like a frightened rabbit, unsure where to go, or what to do. Going back was never an option. I turn away.
At work I glance in the bathroom mirror, I am very pale. You don't frighten me, but there is some storm which has blow up, confused, convoluted with time and the gilding of memory. I remember you fondly, if that is any consolation.
I told someone how I loved you, and he asked, half mocking, if I would go and find you. It stung. He was jealous, maybe. He'd already given me flowers, though with promises of friendship, unlikely more. He and I don't speak much now, and it hurts. You and I, another story. We spoke once a year, twice maybe. Always ending with the same scabs tearing off, the same regrets, the same pleading from you, and the same apologies from me as to why it is so impossible for us to relight the drowned kindling that once kept us warm.
We walked such different paths. Life is unfair, that way. You surmounted Everest, Death Valley, the Grand Canyon, only to arrive in a barren, muddy place, without the terrible desolate beauty they sometimes possess. You said I once calmed the storms in your soul. I've never forgotten that. It was always the wrong time, the stormy time, with you. Abandoning a ship you know will never truly make it to harbor, though it may bob and sink and drift for years before running aground, sails tattered, anchor lost.
If I did stop to speak to you, I don't know what I'd say. If it were a film I wouldn't need to say anything, I might run up and throw my arms around you before you could think, and kiss you, long and sweet. You would taste like smoke and coffee and rain. I would draw away, and say something about how I never go to kiss you goodbye. Which is true, I never really did. The last time I saw you, our hands didn't even touch. But this isn't a film. If I did stop, I wouldn't know what to say. You might not either. If I tried to kiss you, suddenly, I might scare you, set off the combat-tested reflex of self-defense, paranoia, panic. You would taste like coffee and tobacco, maybe ***. The pungent smell would be noticeable on your clothes as you pushed me away from you, cursing me, reminding me you told me never to speak to you again, unless it was to say I found some impossible way to return your dogged love. Your hands would be rough, dwarfing my small arms, your tall body dwarfing my small frame. I felt beautiful when I realized how small I was next to you. I still remember that night when you put me on your shoulders like a child, and carried me back to the car, as I bent down every so often to kiss you, wearing your hat. You'd cut your hand badly at work, but still insisted on holding mine.
I don't know what you'd do now. I don't know what I would do now. What should be done? I know I do not want to rekindle the drenched flame, but care is still lingering. I think of leaving a ten under your windshield wiper, hoping you'd buy yourself a meal. I consider writing the title of the song I wrote about you in the bill's margin. I wonder what you'd think now if you heard it. I can't remember if I ever sang for you. Probably not. We never got drunk together, and I've only ever sung in front of others slightly intoxicated.
But I'm drunk now. Drunk on rainy-day memory and what if's, and I realize I will never sing for you.

My journey through the forlorn miles,
The one's compelled by hated trials,
Brought me to a place once seen
Not long ago, before serene.
That bygone voyage still was made
As my attempt to then evade
The eyes of those who didn't care
Resulted in my worst despair.
The floor beneath me just gave way.
I fell so swiftly through the days.
The blur resulting from the fall
Did never quite consume the gall.
For vexed was I, beyond belief.
So there I lay, consumed with grief.
We'd had enough, I had to go
Back to the home that I did know.
For there at least, I'd hoped to find
Some solace and a peace of mind.
For here at least were those I knew,
The friends I'd had to bid adieu.
But no, instead, the blows still rained
With tidal force, its strength sustained.
The ones upon whom I had counted
Left me to be, til I'd surmounted
All the pains that life had dealt,
Once more alone, though I had knelt.
I'd pleaded, begged, asked for support.
But in the end, I came up short.
So to this day, I deal with this
A single man, lost in the mist.
The home that I had always known
Now held no hope for one so prone
To agony that needs the aid
Of all who'd once assured they'd stayed.
The other roots that'd found their way
Into my life were here to stay,
And it was these that once more made
Me come back here, where I'd decayed.
As life began to start anew,
My false elation never grew.
Instead it soon assumed its role
That I'd disguised, had covered whole.
Now once again, it grew unkempt
The letdowns I'd held in contempt.
I wanted just to fall in love.
On me, it fits much like a glove.
I simply feel that I am here
To show the one whom I revere
Just how much my soul puts out.
'Twere love a voice, this heart would shout.
And finally, I caught a break.
For here she was, just for my sake.
She held the values I loved most.
And not once did she ever boast
Of this, an overwhelming trait
The one that carries awesome weight.
Her beauty hit with shock and awe.
Such purity, so rich, so raw.
In seconds I'd felt drawn to her,
Excitement clouding my need to err
On sides of caution, lest I return
To my cold hell, where I would burn.
As soon I grew to know this girl,
Anticipation made me whirl.
We were too surely much alike.
My sadness briefly, went on strike.
But here, once more, too soon again,
I'd come too late, her heart, the wren
Had flown away before I'd come
So back I am to feeling numb.
I will keep fighting, this I see
As I've not lost my will to be
One half of what I hope to form
Soon after I survive the storm.
So push me, pull me, break me down
You'll never force this heart to drown.
I will prevail. I will succeed.
I'll find that love, so now take heed.
Forbidden fruit, though surely sweet
Will never tempt me, wicked treat.
I'll do this right, and find the one.
I've not ended, but begun.

linear constellations
publish prophecies
bereft of precision
birthing brand new eyes
like boomerangs they oscillate
across nimble currents
though once momentum surmounted
factualism had begun to trickle

Meaningless Void
Seeking the real in shadows the big picture lost all of life you missed the signals they come not as a
Storm but tenderness embodied enrobed in a shroud of mystery you have to listen intently that is the
Way with important things they demand your respect and quiet still heart before written words and
Verbal conversation of great depths will flow uninhibited your mind lies as a wasteland much is on auto
Drive simple easily figured stored in common compartments what about golden words uttered in them
Wisdom that bears sacred depths thick as a mist it touches every fiber you stagger by its wonder
Mankind befriended within the folds of fields valleys you step with feet plagued with error stop, there
Are myriad lessons that would fill the darkness as pleasant sunlight you can carry handfuls blow it softly
Furrowed brows will soften react a smile will attest if your words are right or not fix your eyes on the
Stars they are bearer of good will there is one who knows their names individually you are not on a
Journey of events that are just strung together in any way but they are ordered and you are blessed to
Be on a journey of discovery but by indifference and callous crude behavior you twist your very life into
A straight jacket of mean lifeless riddles that benefits no one and secures disaster at the end you were
Created for highest expression but you quickly settle for the mundane two natures coexist you have the
Right to take charge follow the burning path but in so doing you will know the pain of impurities being
Set to the flame one path will bring division and utter loss the other unanimity peace born from much
Conflict will satisfy the earth where others denounce their own destiny with small lackluster living take
The wind as a guide your beginning will be feeble but as you grapple in this strange hard place you will
Find store houses you thought only existed in dreams on a parched land you turn and by this uncommon
Effort you pour out channels of rich water an irrigated land buds forth it runs back to the day you
Refused to be denied understanding that in ordinary grace a life of service could flourish by being a giver
Instead of just one who grasps you change even nature especially yourself the void is surmounted
freedom is the highest honor any can bestow and leave to others

I love, regardless
Loving feels complete and not to love feels empty
Joy is a place to be surmounted, not by the faint of heart
Caring is an action, that depletes all sources of glycogen and various energy sugars
It makes me and you strong
Do not give up use your energy stores

I hear the dull roar,
It’s a growing sound,
Keep moving forward,
don’t ever lose ground.

The cyclone is coming,
No escaping by running.
As they say, "move it or lose it",
Or your life will be forfeit.

Make a strong shelter
From the helter skelter.
Get your life in order,
Don’t run for the border.

Stand and be counted
All obstacles surmounted
Twister leaves you with devastation,
From life’s rubble; new creation.

Like a tree in the tempest
Stand up and pass life’s test
When calm is around, and beautiful the view,
You’ve finally found the new, stronger you.

Terrorists’ work of devilishness reflected of deterioration of peace,
Surmounted with hellish and purposeless dogma in religion,
What did the innocent do with terrorism?
I watched on the screen how human arms had waved for help,
How victims had fallen from top to the ground zero,
How the splendid tower had been collapsing down
When the monstrous killer plane had plunged into cubicles
When computers had had their tasks with their engineers,
How the second predator dived into the concrete chambers,
How human splendor had crashed in no time:
Might be human pride ‘gainst the Heavenly Glory.
Clouds of smoke and ash had swallowed the hosts and guests,
Sons and daughters had lost their fathers and mothers,
Fathers and mothers had forgotten the memory of their children,
Lovers and lady loves had been shattered without their fulfillment.
What would have happened to the human less predators on flight,
Might be burnt and charred with the steel machine elsewhere?
Do these human less predators work for emptiness in void?
Candles and flowers being carried by the kith and kin of the victims,
And their tribute is the homage to their beloved ones;
Yet is this act done out of ignorance, or of love, or of human bond?
The game was over, but the allusions and metaphors are on stage,
And they are the images of events to come beyond human wit.
A mark of memory and cry diluted by human prayers seen at Ground Zero
With tears rolled down the cheeks of the victims buried beneath.
I could still hear the distant cry of the victims with their arms waved,
The click sounds of the computer buttons can ne’er be erased,
And the bellows of the pounding tower are the death toll still heard.
Terror predators are still awake with their brandishing missiles,
And let’s all break the wings of the predators with our faith in the Lord,
And He will charge them with His Eternal Word on the Day of His Coming.
The Day is not far, and is imminent, must be fair and good in His sight.

For a lifetime, we have waited for that moment, to behold the deepest deep of wisdom

For a lifetime, the seas, stars and the moon obeyed the rhythm

For a lifetime, years passed, we toiled for what seems to be or not

For a lifetime, we rest without delay

For a lifetime, we crushed our feelings; shouldn’t we let the emotions speak?

For a lifetime, being lost for words, verses become divine

For a lifetime, shall we say our prayers?

For a lifetime, we heed to advice, yet we still defy

For a lifetime, we have passed the tunnel of ages, against the odds of time

For a lifetime, have nature surmounted to the heels of mankind, yet its triumphs

For a lifetime, shall we reconcile?

For a lifetime, we sober for lost thoughts, yet laughter seize our pleasured moments

For a lifetime, we cheer for the happy times, thus the tides continues to change

For a lifetime, we endured the groans of existence, but we always prevail

For a lifetime, wishes come true, hopes are revived

For a lifetime, we are on a timeline

It's that time of the year again
Our politicians put on a new persona
Nothing new compared to the previous gimmick
Decade old cliched stuff, on the repeat.

A costly road ahead with a hefty expense
Back-channels, bargains and deals , none can comprehend
Funding is secured, the plans are now been drawn
Delegation to the foot-soldiers, with ease and control
The demography and previous trends have all been accounted
War-rooms being set up, as the arsenal needs to be surmounted.

Minute by minute, hour by hour
The ***** games and abuse of power
Horse trading has begun,
The influential will re-run
Money, honey or even the hard ways
Just break the loyalty and build pathways
Media Cells activated on the double
Spitting venom and creating trouble
Plethora of photoshops and planted stories
Peddling narratives, worst than conspiracy theories.

Meanwhile on the ground, a different game being played
The pawns as usual disillusioned and dismayed
Onslaught begins - First phase division
Divide by nationality, status or religion
Hate-mongering and fear-mongering
No holds barred
Political-correctness and propaganda not that far apart
All kind of theatrics have been put to use
Needless to discount the petty rhetoric and all the abuse

Both left and right wing ideologies hand-crafted to look cool
To trap the gullible and make them drool
And nationalistic pride sprayed like chem-trails
Beyond jingoism, everything else fails
Morality and conscience have vanished into thin air
Utopian lands being promised, as if almost here.

The voter's are intelligent, they keep reiterating
It's just a bait though, to lure them for voting
But then again, what is the voter supposed to do?
Greater evil or lesser evil are the choices to make
Can it get any worst, is his obvious take
Confusion, delusion and a hasty decision made
Now crib, cry, swear and the same blame game
Cometh the next election, its the same game play
The vicious cycle repeats
Politicians are back to deceive and cheat.

Alright! Been there, done that
To err is human they say
Well! Guess what?
I'll willfully repeat that!

Out for a tea-break from rude routine drudgery,
Let our pupils pamper with green tea greenery,
In a wide cradle of hills down the western range,
Hey, enjoin and enjoy the beauty of lull in full swing.

Clouding mist cuddled the crown of gross green hills,
Warmed up trembling heights at day and night falls
Tourists touted, scouted up and down in curvy drills,
Marched ahead for feast of green smiles along miles

Short and smart tea-pool parade cool on high heels,  
Unleashed the taste and toast of parallel paradise,
The train of tea plants planted mounting pleasure,    
Surmounted gravity hard and soft in ups and downs

Wheezing wind whispered winter whimsy hymns,
Sun and rain sieved through mist for sporting spa,
In memoir cameras clicked sprawling green carpets,
What a tantalizing tea tree treat to tired tourists!

Nay, bonny tea bear tear and fear in its pink of health,
Of tampering heads, fracturing leaves, grinding dry,
Of cream, sugar and spice mixed to its boiling sweat,
For daily drink’s deep delight to trigger takers’ sprint.

Terrorists’ work of devilishness reflected of deterioration of peace,
Surmounted with hellish and purposeless dogma in religion,
What did the innocent do with terrorism?
I watched on the screen how human arms had waved for help,
How victims had fallen from top to the ground zero,
How the splendid tower had been collapsing down
When the monstrous killer plane had plunged into cubicles
When computers had had their tasks with their engineers,
How the second predator dived into the concrete chambers,
How human splendor had crashed in no time:
Might be human pride ‘gainst the Heavenly Glory.
Clouds of smoke and ash had swallowed the hosts and guests,
Sons and daughters had lost their fathers and mothers,
Fathers and mothers had forgotten the memory of their children,
Lovers and lady loves had been shattered without their fulfillment.
What would have happened to the human less predators on flight,
Might be burnt and charred with the steel machine elsewhere?
Do these human less predators work for emptiness in void?
Candles and flowers being carried by the kith and kin of the victims,
And their tribute is the homage to their beloved ones;
Yet is this act done out of ignorance, or of love, or of human bond?
The game was over, but the allusions and metaphors are on stage,
And they are the images of events to come beyond human wit.
A mark of memory and cry diluted by human prayers seen at Ground Zero
With tears rolled down the cheeks of the victims buried beneath.
I could still hear the distant cry of the victims with their arms waved,
The click sounds of the computer buttons can ne’er be erased,
And the bellows of the pounding tower are the death toll still heard.
Terror predators are still awake with their brandishing missiles,
And let’s all break the wings of the predators with our faith in the Lord,
And He will charge them with His Eternal Word on the Day of His Coming.
The Day is not far, and is imminent, must be fair and good in His sight.

Out for a tea-break from rude routine drudgery,
Let our pupils pamper with green tea greenery,
In a wide cradle of hills down the western range,
Hey, enjoin and enjoy the beauty of lull in full swing.

Clouding mist cuddled the crown of gross green hills,
Warmed up trembling heights at day and night falls
Tourists touted, scouted up and down in curvy drills,
Marched ahead for feast of green smiles along miles

Short and smart tea-pool parade cool on high heels,  
Unleashed the taste and toast of parallel paradise,
The train of tea plants planted mounting pleasure,    
Surmounted gravity hard and soft in ups and downs

Wheezing wind whispered winter whimsy hymns,
Sun and rain sieved through mist for sporting spa,
In memoir cameras clicked sprawling green carpets,
What a tantalizing tea tree treat to tired tourists!

Nay, bonny tea bear tear and fear in its pink of health,
Of tampering heads, fracturing leaves, grinding dry,
Of cream, sugar and spice mixed to its boiling sweat,
For daily drink’s deep delight to trigger takers’ sprint.

He held her hand all the night
She clenched his' tight
As fears of his parting surmounted her thoughts.

Not a word they spoke,
For feelings have surpassed the words.
Together, they wished to stop the time..
If only this night could stand still..

But it was inevitable,
Dusk faded away, eclipsed by the dawn
And the words have come..
Out of him with great pain

"Have to go now", he said.

Not a word she has said
Like a mannequin, she stared.
A moment passed in silence
And then two.

His eyes couldn't meet hers
For he knew he would not be able to go
If only he looked at her eyes..
Her eyes spoke for her.

Those moments in silence,
And he felt the moist warmth on his hand..
The warmth of the teardrop that left her eye,
For him.

With great reluctance, she left his hand
'Go', she said and the only word she could say indeed.
Painfully mellow was her voice.
For she knew that she couldn't stop him..
If only she could wish.

He wished, yet he couldn't stay
For her well-being in his absence, he prayed.

'I will soon be back' he said.

Hope floated in their hearts
That grim times will fade away
Good times will be back there

It' all just a matter of time.

You stripped me down
to just my skin;
looked at me,
and behold!
You were unfettered.
You held me still
as I resisted;
childish,
leary of the water.

Not because of my sugar
molecule DNA,
but rather, the lack thereof.
See, I feared that the water,
so often uplifting,
would reveal my ugly tricks.
See, I feared it'd seep right through,
flow between a clavicle,
a cranium,
some ribs.

But persistently you did lather
with the patience of a saint;
washed the chunks, the stench,
the filfth and fear quickly down
a rusted drain.

When the fight in me
did subside, I'd catch you
out of slits to glassy eyes:
solemnly faceded,
but in bright pupils
I did see,
how you'd fallen for a sin like me.

Oh, and it hit me.
The nothingness that somehow held.
And I wailed.
And I cried.
And I bawled until my eyes bled.
And I thought of mother.
And of father.
And of baby sister, and of Craig.
But none of my injustices
Surmounted to you,
and your need to make clean.

And so you scrubbed
with a fever,
to cleanse my every spot.
You are my Savior,
my King,
my God,
and I love you
for every spot you worked
so hard to make
perfect,
For our family name,
I love you,
even if I seem to not feel
as claimed.

So I surmounted the obstacle,
That did not make us cool,
I want you in my arms,
Even If I have to pull down a thousand dams.

Out for a tea-break from rude routine drudgery,
Let our pupils pamper with green tea greenery,
In a wide cradle of hills down the western range,
Hey, enjoin and enjoy the beauty of lull in full swing.

Clouding mist cuddled the crown of gross green hills,
Warmed up trembling heights at day and night falls
Tourists touted, scouted up and down in curvy drills,
Marched ahead for feast of green smiles along miles

Short and smart tea-pool parade cool on high heels,  
Unleashed the taste and toast of parallel paradise,
The train of tea plants planted mounting pleasure,    
Surmounted gravity hard and soft in ups and downs

Wheezing wind whispered winter whimsy hymns,
Sun and rain sieved through mist for sporting spa,
In memoir cameras clicked sprawling green carpets,
What a tantalizing tea tree treat to tired tourists!

Nay, bonny tea bear tear and fear in its pink of health,
Of tampering heads, fracturing leaves, grinding dry,
Of cream, sugar and spice mixed to its boiling sweat,
For daily drink’s deep delight to trigger takers’ sprint.

there was fog
outside the window
yesterday that i meant
to photograph. here
in my parents' house, big
and empty and warm,
my mom tells my brothers
to swallow vitamin D
but she doesn't have to tell me.
most days, where i live now
the sun shines. most days
there is no fog, no forests,
no rain. i miss
the wilderness of this city:
the way the weeds
force their way through
the asphalt, the way everything
in spring is a cavalcade of green,
the way the clouds turn
the whole sky white
or shine gold, the way the hidden
mountains show themselves,
shining silver crowns
on the horizons, gifts
of a sunny day. where
i live now the mountains are
huge and stunning
and obvious: like big
dumb desert teeth, cacti bloom
and the trees they claim are tall
are ancient, there is
no height reached that is
not surmounted in my home,
there is no fear that is overcome.
here everyone is lying, i can
see it in their eyes, the sun
makes them feel safe
and invincible and detached.
where i am from the rain
wears you down, beats all
the summer strength out of you.
you must find something
to cling to, something real
to hold on to with all your might
when winter comes because
otherwise down falls the rain
and washes you away. in the desert
there is nothing to cling to.
there is dust. there are palms
that sway in a sun they weren't
born under, there are cities built
over deserts, but the deserts
are still there. where i am from
we know that this land was forest
and river and field: the rain washes
our illusions of civility down
the drain. in desert the dust that
sneaks in is a slower kind of
reclaiming: it will collect, it will
fill our lungs, but it does not
shout like the rain.

On all the death beds
The word love is more resonant than
The struggle to invent
Perhaps because what nature provides
Has surmounted concoctions
Ever since Jesus poured his blood onto wood
We eat flesh not stone
We listen to stories of compassion
We get on our knees for love
We die dreaming of it
The turbulence hits the wings
My mind fumbles with the vision of the dive
A jolt and a muffled pilots voice
I'd sprint across the aisle
I love you
We are leaving together but I love you
Forever
This moment lives
And in it I love you

if the furniture of your mind
all came from IKEA
if you have not
an original idea

if you think Ray Hadley
is your rough diamond Jesus
you are probably a far
cry from genius

if all you believe
and all you conceive
is Alan Jones
or 9 on the teev

if all that you've said
and all that you've heard
challenges not
and runs with the herd

if all that you've heard
and all that you've said
makes you
a derivative ditto head

think for a bit
and marshal a thought
test every idea
that you ever bought

run it up against
a value frame
does it work? Is it
worth your name?

do it with care
you know that you should
get a grip
on all that is good

you don't have to accept
swallow and follow
you alone can
make your tomorrow

break from the herd
all fears surmounted
be your own hero
stand up and be counted