My friends did ask me in earnest
' At your ending, what do you have to show?'
  what a difficult question! My answer:
  ' Truthfully I don't know'.

One word that would unsettle me for the day:
ANGER

This conversation
is leading nowhere
and I know
you would swear
you knew
what you saw
you were there
before
I was

but
you read too much
into what was before your eyes
you added something
and you subtracted something
and now you are imagining
that nothing
was really a thing
something
concocted
because
you wanted
that nothing
to be happening
to meet your desiring?

I was there
not at the same time
but everything
I saw
was no different
from what you believed
you saw

the mind is tricky
we have to mind the mind
grasp reality as it is
and leave illusion behind

Aim not too high
    on the possible, concentrate
    you don't have wings--you can't fly-
    on simple ground, your small worthy deeds celebrate.

You dazzle
I am only an ember

Luggage
   I have none
   all discarded
   task done

Yes, the poem is mine
but it's you who inspire
me, forlorn lover

Morning 6 to 8.99 a.m.--a happy family man
   9 a.m.  to 5 pm-- a disgruntled working- man
  evening--a serious retrospective man
  bed-time-- a flat-out and couldn't-be-bothered man!

I never knew
tomorrow
was hiding
beneath my bed-time pillow

But I could not pray even for a moment
  my heart is sterile and barren
  there would be the worst insidious lies
  in every word that's to be spoken--

unfit am I on this wide and open earth
how could I aspire for heaven?
the golden rules of good living
every single one I have knowingly broken.

Trying too much to be
        courts frustration and misery

If Shakespeare
    had met Elvis Presley
    he would have been tempted
    to write rock-poetry-

   If Amadeus
  had met Elvis Presley
  he would have been persuaded
to compose rock--melodies--- too many!

   If Warren Buffet
  had met Elvis Presley
  he would have said:
'  Invest in my company!'

   If Elon Musk
had met Elvis Presley
  he would have induced him
  to sing the song: ' Tesla The All-Mighty!'

My words are few

they dwell in parsimony

but my heart is true

would you but accept me?



Silent is my love--its very beauty

I would blemish --it won't do-

to describe even in sweetest poetry

here I am, blessed, prayerful.

One man's meat
is another's poison
when it comes to money
in agreement is every person

Artificially- heightened emotion in poetry
is its very own enemy

Before I can reach out to others

I must be able to reach within me

the foundation must precede the building

only this will make for my credulity

I no longer
wish to know
thinking is doubt
to knowledge I've said: No-

only love I would trust
silently watch it grow
words interfere and mislead
to beauty they lend their ugly blow.

The hour is not yet
it can't be rushed
I'll patiently wait
I won't be nonplussed-

verily there's time to celebrate
the heart's longings they can't away be brushed
love shall appear at the gate
its sacred and cherished vows keep it must.

Dearest poet you I deeply long for
but fate dictates our love 's not meant to be
my parents have bethrothed me
to the son of the rich Lin family--

poets are poor like beggars
thus they spoke to me
I would have children
did I want to live in poverty?

How pitiful are scholars
they dream but make no money
bread and rice have to be paid for
they don't grow on the tree.

Your thousand poems I've hidden
under my pillow and each word I embrace fondly
forgive me for failing you my love
we have to accept the cruelty of destiny.

They say to me:
life is sabotage
I don't agree
and reply: perhaps a mirage--

whatever said, the reality
is we could never escape the barrage
events act like avalanches in ubiquity
we live constantly in over-charge.

Farm in Hokkaido
apples rush to greet the sun
kids say: Ohayo.

Sometimes
for unknown reasons
it did seem life had gone to sleep
in hiatus-- it couldn't have been
my fault--I didn't argue nor coax
it got too familiar with me--perhaps?
but I couldn't say for sure
and at best could only speculate--

I must be the provocateur
to wake it up lest it were
to slip away in indolence
and indifference too long
we would then not be
on speaking terms again
and both would be left wanting-

I will not use a whip
only gentle persuasion
waiting for its resurrection.

Wisdom is sober, quiet and seldom heard
folly rushes in with speech pompous and absurd

It's the greatest mystery
  this ubiquitous circularity

Youth does not for once
old age contemplate
it's the dawn of love
life it will celebrate.

  The heart leaps to the sky
  the arms longingly outstretch
   the hours to joy they beckon
    such bliss nothing could ever match .

       Outside your chamber
       even in the coldest winter night I wait
        no glance you give me and walk away
         yet I linger after midnight late

For by such alluring beauty
I'm imprisoned and I can't escape
I'll die gladly for her just one kiss
it's all vain pining now and in sorrow I drape.

I don't have to understand
in order to love
I love so that
I would understand

Art in abstraction

metaphor of subconscious

colours' collision

What the heart desires

  it doesn't understand

  sometimes it burns like fires

  other times it's silent and content



for love both loathes and inspires

as it traverses over many an uncertain terrain

it waxes, wanes, doubts, mesmerises

how often it does oscillate between joy and pain!

I would not beseech for more
surfeit is too heavy for me to handle
abundance stultifies me and makes me tremble-
this little is my core and equilibrium
my raison d'etre in my frailty--
my cup runs full in my poverty
words take leave and elude me
what's there to count or measure
as I have more than plenty?
now I am ready to tell my story:

Love, ah so wondrous
so exquisite
so warm and tender
so glorious
so divine
I have no right to demand
beyond more than that meted
I would rather give
in greater measure
than seek
the pleasure
of ownership
for love should always
be larger
than self
and I can't say ever:
' Oh, that's mine'.

This part of me
tested by time
this heart of mine
by your love sanctified
these tears you came by
to wipe, this pain
you visited
by the dead of night
to heal while I was lost
confused, afraid and alone
you hugged me like a child
and with me you wept
though not a single word
we said.

Now
age has taken over
the past has its story related
joys and sorrows of ours we shared
are documented
deep within us
known to none else
secrets that are sacred
that make us what we are
we have reason
our love to re-celebrate

we have become
parts assembled
into the finished work
that faith, patience and endurance
first built amidst the ruins of time
against all the odds
of mindless fate
marooned, forgotten, lost
but we never gave up hope
our parts we brought together
we struggled, we merged
adversities we so courageously fought
and strength from some unknown
in mystery overtook us
the light forsook us not
from the blinding darkness
we woke into the bright new day
what had gone before we forgot
a miracle has been brought
we no longer in isolation live
all my parts belong to you
and yours are mine--
this becomes our unalienable lot.

Any childhood
has moments of being rude

But they are wrong
who praise the virtues
of old age--
who its contentment extol-
the image
of understanding
they hold
as homage--

the story must be retold
the years that had gone before
have festered into rage-
the if and but
the should/would have been-

now standing apart
is the time to dip into
the poison of the heart-
hurt, real or perceived
dreams that had perished
the machination orchestrated
by enemies and even worse
that of once cherished friends--

broken promises
ideals falsely professed
wasted hours
in the sunshine
of youth
lies in the mid-term years
the slime and flattery
the bad-mouthing
the insinuations
the treachery
the self at variance
with the world
hidden anxieties
and fears

in translation
old age is but pain
and regret
a poem unfinished
a book badly written
a song that doesn't sing
a bell that doesn't ring

in his diary
the old person
inscribes:
these are the years
(though the last)
still swallowed
by lonely
and untold tears.

Life is a sticky matter:
    we get more stuck
    than unstuck-
    we can't duck!

No, oh no, it's not defeat
you are still standing on your two feet.

The home of humility is complete silence

             there's no need for any spoken sentence

As I reach my last throe
my moment of truth I would know

Magistrate, male,    32 years of age
   policeman on duty  30
   the man on the dock 60

Magistrate to policeman : What's the nature of his offence?

Policeman: He cycled in the night on....at... pm without light
This is in contravention of Section....sub-clause....of the Traffic Act 1892

to the defendant: How do you plead?
Defendant:  Not guilty and unjust, Your Honour

Magistrate to policeman: Was he co-operative?
Answer: No Sir, he was angry and gave me a lecture

M:  lecture---about what? The law? Is he a lawyer?

P:   No Sir, he talked about family honour, Chinese filial piety,
Confucius and Chinese civilisation with 5,000 years of history...on and on...

M:  Is he a scholar or historian?

P:  No Sir, he certainly isn't !

M:   Then, who is he?

P:     Sir, I know him very well--he's my father!
He said I had no right to arrest him as that was lack of filial piety.

M:   Hmm, really interesting.  Never had such a case before me.
then to policeman:
       ' Your dad was right!  You should have heeded what he said.
You are wasting Court-time. Case dismissed!

        (newsmen and those who sat in Court gave a loud clap and
shouted: Bravo!)

Geniuses are great
but mistakes they also make
that we shouldn't forget

Life is but strecthes of roads
each leading somewhere
why couldn't I find mine
whether here or there?

I wonder--are they real
or a figment of my mind?
(but others are sure of what they see-
I must be blind!).

I wander--alone and lost
as each hour starts to grind
how near or far is my heart's home?
as all over only fog and mist I find.

Where is my compass?
is life only a mirage and mine a chagrin?
but there is no track leading back
and every hope of mine fate chooses to decline.

I know what Edward Lear would say-hmm-
      to me:  You should be barred from writing any lim-erick
      don't assume anything despite your name being Lim
      from Chinaman I want no silly trick!

The night
it must
spill over
to the day
the latter
(with reluctance?)
descends
into the hateful dusk
and unfriendly dark

time is the bridge
that provides
the crossover
with men
and women
as the hangover -thus
is its hallmark

life the linker
of the past
to the present
to be taken over
by the future
everything either
stays together
or breaks
apart

in the darkest hour
where is it
to be found
the spark?

Spite in the sentence
every word one of arrogance
bent on intransigence
seeking a fight in belligerence.

Don't tell my wife Nancy
I borrowed from you
our marriage is very shaky
I'll repay when the day is due.

To no ideological cause do I subscribe
don't ask me to join your Grand Parade
I'm known in town as founder of Society Absurd
I could never be counted as one who would make the grade.

Old age does not necessarily wisdom confer
many friends of mine are still puerile and so often do they err

Empathy-
when your heart
reaches out geninely
to even a stranger in misery

Should I not

or should I?

and do I

know why?

I would not
return to that state
of easy acquiescence
(no more self-indulgence)
I have changed
and am sure
I am no longer
the person as before

if my mind could draw
it would be an image
of myself as a mystified
and vague shadow
in an impressionistic painting
on a night without a single star stirring
it would keep people trying
to figure out the person within
they would go on guessing
imagining,  their brains turning
as the truth lies hidden
and in doubt and suspense
their curiosity not satisfied
walk with heavy steps away
their displeasure displaying

yet not knowing
they too are shadows
their inside invisible
though with others
they are mingling
conveniently forgetting
that we are all silhouettes
masters in designing
the devious art of living

in this sad scheme
of things
I can't help feeling
we are all in
self-hiding
even strangers
unto our selves

cogito
sed
non sum
I am alone
a shadow
a silhouette
that's all
I need to know

It started with three blind mice
one went to consult an ophthalmologist
quickly got cured and ran happily after the farmer's wife
leaving two blind comrades in the list--

that generous creature persuaded
the other two to do the same
provided full details including
the doctor's qualifications and name--

mouse number two rushed
to the eye-clinic
and told the doctor
'my eyes are sick'--

the good doctor had a string of degrees
managed to save 90% of number two's sight
it leapt for joy, the saviour he thanked from its heart
and exclaimed: 'Now I know the sun is bright!'

this left only one blind mouse
a hypochondriac it was--truly
it begged the other two to accompany it
and said: ' Please don't leave me'--

its condition was bad
it had advanced cataract
but the doctor was world-class
the little fellow recovered 70% from his skilful act.

no longer 'the three blind mice'
'running after the farmer's wife'
they ran away from their old home
and enjoyed happy days throughout their life.

Youth
but memory
middle age
but worry
old age
but ambiguity
death
the summary

I
you
they
and life-

the inseparable quartet
we are

in our being together :
every day
our drama
is played