The highest prize

does genius pay

the self it does antagonise

torture is the order of the day

I have often felt that we are born not to understand but to doubt--
an error of nature?

There's a wasteland in every heart

     that awaits to be cultivated

     with love, patience and due regard

     an oasis of beauty and joy will be rewarded

I am a partaker  
but the smallest morsel
would easily satisfy--
can't see
the reason why
some would want
it all and later sigh
for over-indulgence
in indigestion
ending
in spewing-
what an ugly sight!
the object of ridicule
to those who pass by--

the species
most self-seeking
most greedy
most uncaring
most unrelenting
most depressing
absolutely disgusting-
mankind
which has lost
both its heart
and mind
a creature
primordial
a mistake
of nature-

I'll stand last
in the queue
(not even in view)
while other rush
for what they assume
they have the first right
to consume-

if all has been taken
by the early-comers
and nothing is left
for the late arrivals
like me--I would walk away
and not be embittered
I would just say:
there's another time
another day.

We should learn
to break time
down to tiny fragments
the likely outcome
is --we would understand
the moment as it presents--
in greater clarity

we capitalise
on reducing its size
its power over us
diminishes

we would then
not count ourselves
to be weak
before a giant
as it has somehow
assumed the likeliness
of a little lamb.

When there's life
there's sound
you hear someone
and all else around--

you know my presence
as I'm speaking now
you would know my absence
when I could no longer be found.

Love---   at the end

you'd want to return

to the beginning

for more the heart will yearn

For decades with such passion I searched
for a true and loyal friend
one night a figure I saw-my doppelgänger!
my long quest came to an end!

My friend complained in no small measure
after returning from a holiday abroad
'It was horrible--the people, the food, the rushing
the cost of things--the early hours--the wrong souvenirs I bought!'

The present laments in its being unwholesome
to the unfinished scenes of the past it does succumb
for direction it seeks to make sense of the future
hoping to reap in days ahead its longed-for outcome

the past, the present, the future
the trinity set in total sum
time but exists as long as it's reckoned
life remains what it is---an ever conundrum.

The brain
is but a machine
it's the heart
that makes it spin

Nothing that's beautiful
could ever be broken
in its tender intimacy
sublimest words are spoken-

where love and truth come to mingle
beauty shall never ever be forgotten
time will shy away in silent worship
every blessing and grace hereupon is begotten.

Time has no patient nor friendly ears
it heeds not youth's supplication
beauty allures but too soon it withers
love sighs and dreams sink into oblivion-

old age in hurried steps intervenes
life is more strife than consolation
the poet weeps alone with every word he writes
all longing and desire but end  in desolation.

A game deviously played
Machiavellism-made

It's hard not to doubt as there are no straight-forward answers to life's
mysteries. But humility does console a lot as it makes us realise
the limits of our understanding.

Thus, not being able to find the answers is in itself healthy and should not be frowned upon.  

If we have all the answers, wouldn't life be dull and sterile?

They didn't know me
but to judge they were too eager
the said I was a nitwit
like none other

It might pain you, my beloved

             to have me remembered

             I would be happy when dead

             if you would promise to forget

Because of doubt
I live more freely
my life would be static
if lived in certainty

Who's the most tiresome person ?
I searched far and wide
after a livelong journey I found
it was ME,  all others aside.

Be thankful that you are imperfect
as perfection would spell your very doom.

The perfected self has nothing else to look forward to
and perishes in its isolation,  monotony and boredom.

When suffering becomes acute and seems too much to bear,
all that should be done is not to battle with it
but to strip it off bit by bit like peeling a large onion.

The malice of people is seldom discovered from face-to-face confrontations but in subtle insinuations and innuendoes.

Treat life with impartiality.

Money talks for sure
it doesn't have to be pure!

Love is strengthened
more by tears
than happy years

Blue sky kisses hills

casts its shine on calm waters

watched by lonely trees

Brown leaves strewn on ground
after last night's heavy rain
typical autumn

The more
I socialise
the greater
I learn about lies

In my silence
the voices I hear
of those I love most
so tender, so sweet, so dear

Go where you may
but come back to where you belong
never mind the yesterday
where the heart is, there's no wrong.

This is the heart
of the matter:
reason will not save me-
only humour

the former confuses
the latter is that which nourishes:
life has many a dimension
reason is to humour subservient

Life
truth or fiction
neither?
something in-between
but what does that mean?
still a lacuna
something not clearly seen
which we can only glean?

as none has the answer
why the quarrel or dispute then?
the wise they argue in vain
the foolish watch and are entertained
by words they don't understand

some speak of the Garden of Eden
others of Arcadia and the Land
of Ulysses. Yet more-- of Lilliput
Utopia, even the mention The Realm of Golden Strand

I didn't any school attend
(parents were too poor), so I'm ignorant
let others do the thinking and speaking
I'll stand aside to listen
as they endlessly fight and rant.

This is what babies do
they drink milk
they sleep
they coo and they poo

Know then
Zen
is infinite patience
discipline and diligence
you reap what you sow
it's not a gift
that's heaven-sent

I don't have much love left to give away--
I have to keep some as reserve to survive.

My heart said:
i know you love me
but it's sad
you don't really understand me

That which
    you tasted yesterday
    could never be exactly
    the same today

Desolate bare trees

beneath late evening's sun

heart in nostalgia

I close my eyes

so clearly I see

what is in sight

is not reality

Life is a puzzle

              it's up to me

              not to make mine a muddle

Some day, somehow, comes the inevitable--- power
shall fall from grace and be crushed into powder.

To the contented heart
little is plenitude
why hanker after a large tree
that bears no good fruit?

I failed as I was stubborn
  I never wanted to learn

Life the ephemeral

as flowers that bloom and vanish

art the eternal

it will never ever perish-



here, love, joy and beauty

with sorrow and tears intermingle

find their voices in ecstasy or pity

all arts touch or hearts and ennoble



1.15 pm Melb time, Sun 18th April

Busy all the time
nothing worthwhile done
to inane moments succumb
while precious time takes its run.

'It all adds up'
  not possible
  life is scattered
  with too many a variable-

  true to say: 'Nothing adds up'
  life is all-pervading trouble
  we fail, we blame, we stumble
  we struggle with the improbable.

When I count myself less
I enhance my happiness

I like a new day

it will not be the same

along the way

I'll ascribe it a new name

West:  Accumulate

Zen:    Empty yourself

It's a law truly desirable and admirable
    if it would specify such:
   ' no spoken words for the day are allowable
   from those who have talked too much'.