Grant me kindness
not success:
in this alone
I'll be fully blessed

If I were to say
'wait until then'
I would be less of a man
with nothing new to invent

I can measure, to a reasonable degree, the work I have done
but not the extent of my unkindness and inconsiderateness.

People talk of their strengths

       as for me,  my weaknesses I study

       life is a sharp ascent to better-hood

       what in future would I be?

Let each have their say
it's what everyone is entitled to
however insignificant it's still their story
this applies also to me and you-

life is the universal democracy-
I am unafraid to declare
I've fought, I suffered
and bled. I was there-

no life is the same
we should deal not
with the general
but the particular--each thought

belongs to the individual
it's what makes him or her
let's step aside and our prejudice
cast--we aren't asked to concur.

What we say
is hardly the truth
words we contrive
our purpose to suit

we can't be our own accuser
our reputation we strive to keep
so used to self-contradiction and hypocrisy
we never lose even a single night's sleep.

Moonlit face
starry eyes
poets are out-of-place
they tell lies-

love is bliss
its abode is paradise
no--it's often amiss
harbinger of grievous sighs.

LIEBESLEID

I can't find another
and in the wasteland of love
I'll linger
watched by the last star above

I can’t love another
you are my first and last
I would rather
not to have loved you in the past

The Creed of a Humanist
(My 12 Rules of Living)

I might be down, but will not despair

I might be bruised, but will bear

I might fear but will stay

I might fail, but effort I will redouble.

I might suffer, but will not be bitter

I might be alone, but will love being my own

I might be forsaken but will not be broken

I might weep but only in silence

I might be bewildered but will not count it loss

I might be misunderstood but no ill-being will I harbour

I might not be loved but will live not in hate

I might be dying but still the last moment I will be savouring

Mind as volcano

erupting in wild colours

only artists know

The 'is'
and the 'is not'
no longer
troubles any thought

2019 the new year
some so-called friends you would drop
others you wouldn't care to draw near
full-stop!

Life is never perfect
but there's no excuse
to unfurl in despair
the Surrender-Flag

When death
    is put to sleep
    what fear is left
    for us to keep?

Key words:

   life
   the world
   people
   self and others
  truth and falsehood
   doubts
   incomprehensibility
   meaning or lack of
   the motives of others
   what's a friend or enemy?
   self-reliance
    courage
   authority
   freedom
   choice
   love and hate
   home
   career
  money
  power
  influence
  budget
  tax
   trust
  deceit
  success
  set-back and failure
  constancy and consistency
  thinking
  feeling
  decision-making
  planning
  e­xpecting
waiting
dreaming

  health
satisfaction
  happiness and sorrow
  death

post scriptum----reader--please do your own list

Betrayal
should not be
in our vocabulary

done to others
is ignominy
of self---a tragedy

such would
an imprisonment be
the betrayer would never be free

the life worthwhile
embraces humanity
in its true authenticity

THE PAST

The distant mindscape: faces, sound, colour, places, images-
Like impressionistic paintings:
The misty sea beneath the pale moon-light,
The far-away green hill,
The fading flower, the silent lake-
The vastness of the summer field-
Forgotten street-lamps
In deserted parts of one’s childhood town,
Children’s laughter and cries
In the after-dinner hours
Watched by their mother’s vigilant and loving eyes
Abandoned boats on an unknown shore
Sharing the sighs
Of the sea and the winds that pass by-
The faint echo of violin strains
Floating late into the depths of the cold night-
Words of those we loved, knew and met-      
Like an endless kaleidoscope, scenes
Drawn on life’s play-field, initialled by
Laughter and tears:
Long-forgotten now, only hints,
Vestiges of clouded moments, lost
In the labyrinth of time.
The past is only fragmented memories
Cradled within the landscape of the mind-
Is it beautiful, sad or bitter-sweet?
Only you and you alone
Know
Only you alone
Can tell.

Every age does create
its own poems and music
its voice shall not be silenced
deeply into the nature of things
it would not cease to dig-
conventions they blind
they suffocate the wit
rise, oh rise to raise your song
those who seek truth and justice
do not aim to do any wrong
today is the call to a new world
tomorrow shall belong
to the courageous and strong
the false edifices of the mindless throng
shall crumble.  This is not a revolution
but a logical and peaceful transition
the symbol of an age reborn
heralding in a long-awaited dawn.

Dawn yawns o'er river

faint winter morning sunshine

quiet sailing boats

Unloading
this self-flirting
the beginning
to life's meaning

ego- dissipating
feelings a--glowing
love--a-  blooming
an authentic being

I can take it--any time-
call me a *** if you will
I don't expect everyone
to show me love or goodwill.

My poetry
finds and defines me

as long as
I stay with it
we're a unity

to it I'm tied
in continuity

faith, the utmost faith
is required
in this mutual loyalty

when I'm sinking
it will embrace me
as I step into finality

Don't be ornate
     and don't exaggerate
     complexity doesn't sell
     in simple clarity let your story tell.

Do women love differently from men?

WHEN LOVE HAS PERISHED

When love has perished

and past dreams have vanished

when once-carefree kisses

are just ghosts of bliss

when words once so dear

now come to haunt the ear

when the field once endowed with flowers
is now drenched in mud and heavy showers

it is time to move on and say farewell

life offers bouquets still--choose not hell

while the heart still flutters and yearns
while the blood still burns

nothing should hold back life

even though there would still be grievous strife

that all mortals are born to bear

but one should proudly still dare

stand unshaken, unafraid to stare

adversity and pain—anywhere-

with equanimity and grace

in destiny’s unforgiving face
c’est la vie, nothing to grieve, my friend

this is but the flowering of a fresh dawn, not the end.

Knowing most things
  I can't do-- I lend
my energy to what's
  within my talent's scan

  there's the very likelihood
  I might not succeed
  still I regard it better
  than not to proceed

Is it true
love that's not physical
fails to meet
the transcendental?

I'll speak to the night
shut away the voice of day

it doesn't reply
but it reads my heart

not in nonchalance
but as an consoling friend

time falls apart
as the hours dissipate

the moon recedes
the stars they weep

the winds they sigh
the trees are silent in sleep

the stream is still
solemn is the nearby hill

shadows and silhouettes
are they real or imaginary?

does her voice descend
from the river's end

reminding me
of our love that couldn't be?

I wonder and still search-
where's she? is she happy?

what futility!
the past is but a bad memory

Chopin's Nocturnes--piano refrains
drift in the chilly air singing of pains

reverie-ridden, I'm lost in a half dream
as the last star gives up its farewell beam.

ROBIN WILLIAMS SAYS FAREWELL

This heavy burden is too painful to bear
Even with my loved ones I can't share
The darkness lengthens everyday
Its shadows haunt and won't go away.

I am sinking, sinking fast
My ship is lost without its mast
If life is such hell
It's time I quit and say farewell

I had no quarrel with time
     but it looks askance
     as though saying too long
     I have been around
     or worse--that something wrong
     I have done--

     the sentinel eternal
     the judge inimical
     the party unfaithful
     the heart unsentimental

     but
     I'll not be cowed
     to myself I belong
     if life is a battlefield
     I would be my own general

      winter chills in season
      unforgivingly
     but my heart
     shall not be frozen
     man shall never
     be smaller than fate
     there's no glory
     in out--living
     if with meaning
     I have lived

     life's chaos and angst
     has not diminished me
     I have stood up
     with dignity
    
     in my nameless humility
     and my naked humanity
     I am content  
     and joyful
     ( despair and regret
      set aside)
     with what remnant
     to me
     has been given.

Sunshine, moonshine, shoeshine
only the last I can claim to be mine.

Love does not have
to wear any badge
it's not for public display
it only needs to self-engage

WHY?

Why is love lost
more poignant than love kept
and linger longer in the heart
when there's nothing left

but the haunt of painful memories
and so many a regret? caught
by hopes crushed and joys stolen
what would be the bereft lover's thought?

no wonder love is bitter- sweet
though it might end in nought
' Our sweetest songs are those
that tell of saddest thought'

so wrote Shelley in his
'Ode To The Skylark'
young lovers be warned
to the great bard's words you should hark.

Tell me the colour
of your past and I
will construct your story
and explain to you the how and why

Tell me the colour
of your life in the present
I'll compose for you
music that speaks of your heart's hidden content

Tell me the colour
of your dream--your fondest-
its semblance I shall interpret
and relate how you will be blest

Tell me the colour
of the future in which you want to be
I'll look through my prophetic prism
which will reveal whether you would be sad or happy

It's not time
I count
it's the moment
and I
interfacing

none is there
to watch
or judge
me beside

the pulse
of the now
the fibre
of being

the test
of living
the air
I'm breathing

the thoughts
brewing
the will
in harnessing

the tension
unfolding
the wit
in pitting

the insight
awakening
the path
for charting

the clay
for moulding
the anvil
for beating

all in all
the becoming
in what
I am giving

frail though I am
in the enocuntering
knowing yet
I might be stumbling

but steps of the past
I would not be retracing
to what's before me I must
attend--there would be no regretting.

'I will'
is the start
of the will.

I'm no writer
nor singer
I'm nothing
just a dreamer

but dreaming
brings in no dough ever
no sane woman
would be my wife or lover.

Thus,  far and wide I wander
with no aim nor purpose
can't say I'm dismal
though friends say I'm useless.

A wise old man met me along the way
my drifting he did praise and encourage
he said he was like me in his youth
I remember him well now in my fading old age.

He said to me:

let's have a conversation--

I should let you know beforehand

with regard to opinions, I am very stubborn

Of Sartre and Camus
and the rest of the host
(too many besides)
to them should we toast?

I am a Zen-man
struggle in reason
I'll not-- what life metes
humbly I accept---it's prison

to live in the mind
questioning is dumb
ten thousand doubts
emerge---what a dreadful outcome!

all that's in life is
pure such-ness
call a rose by ten other names
it will still but be its intrinsic loveliness

the river is the river
the hill is the hill
the hour is the hour
that which is still is still

of the universe I am part
without me it's not integral or whole
only in this blend will my heart
find its peace--we are the substance of the same pole

drawn from the field of void's mystery
in the eons of time-- beyond any intelligent telling
self is delusion, we are one of the Many
which is the meaning beyond all meaning

that which is truth
has no name to it attached
the Tao is the way
to nothing attached

of Sartre and Camus, also all those in the Restless Band
the clamour for understanding, the angst and the anguish
in the existential absurdity--from that I walk far away
in Zen's teachings I abide which all doubts extinguish.

Don't ask me
to advise
all my life I had problem
giving myself the right advice

This is the beauty
of ignorance-
you don't need to argue
  in any instance.

The past would not allow
the present is grievously torn
between the now-hours and tomorrow
the never-ceasing tussle-  on which side would the battle be won?

What had taken place resides
in hibernation--- such scenes are not gone
memory lurks still while the future awaits--
to a strange continuum time was born.

I could not be what I was before
on the uncertain tide of  moments I'm borne
my heart oscillates and often I am set apart
by the revisit of sweet joys and sorrows forlorn.

Today the winds rage in fury
yesterday the sun so valiantly shone
never is life a field where the same game
is played but the unforgiving and tortuous sojourn.

Reason moves a step at a time
   intuition has run the whole course in no-time

LIFE IS NOT FOR LAUGHS
                    Why did Robin Williams commit suicide-
                    Was life to him not a comedy-too much pain inside?
                    His heart--from the world hidden
                    He must have felt that life was rotten
          
                    But he was an actor and had to pretend
                   The jester with suffering untold had to laugh till the show's end
               'Bleed, o bleed, my heart, bleed--acting is such a burdensome task
                    I am weary--life *****---farewell, farewell to this farce'

FACES
I share the joy of happy faces
But sad faces linger long in my mind
There is no Arcadia or paradise on earth
So much pain and misery is inherited by mankind.

Ah, my love,  I see your tender face and your gentle smile
I wish I would never make you cry
If  in my duty I should fail
I would be unworthy—it would be best if I die.

Measure me
not by what I appear
but what I am

measure me
not by what I want
but what I reject

measure me
not by words I say
but my unknown deeds

measure me
not when I am in public
but in my privacy

measure me
not by my success
but my failure

measure me
not by what I know
but what I am ignorant of

measure me
not by what others say
but from our personal encounters

measure me
not out of sympathy
but with impartiality

measure me
not with the yardstick of bravery
but my vulnerability

measure me
not as among the selected company
but among the poor and needy

measure me
not when the world is for me
but when all things are against me

measure me
not by the approval of authority
but my desire to be free

measure me
not when I am in the pink of spring or summer
but when I am stricken by the harshness of winter


measure me
in my very frailty
that alone would make me happy.

THIS IS WHAT I AM
    
    I can't choose
    what to be
    see me
    in my soul's nakedness
    my heart's transparency
    
   if you don't see
   anything that's worthy
   walk away,  instantly
   lest you end in misery

   life is all about
   to be
   or not to be
   verily
   'no' is often
   the best policy
   'yes' said too readily
   has ruined
   so many
   and robbed them
   of their right to be happy

   I can't be
   that someone
   you want to see
   (perhaps in your maiden-fantasy
    you hoped for a knight in shining armour
    but life is not a fairy story-
   no Camelot, I am too ordinary)
  
    think ten times
    before saying 'yes'
    
    it takes only a second
    to say 'no'
    that might be (for you dear sake)
   the best way to go

It would not be for want of words
that I regret but my reckless superfluidity
I pour them out in mindless torrents
betraying their trust and blemishing their purity--

hushed,  silent, solemn, reverential
I should learn to be in this my journey
perchance the Grand Council of Words some day
would grant me a second chance to write poetry.

Nothing is heavier
I dare say
than the weight
of an oppressive thought
that refuses to go away.

Dear Readers
I am no philosopher, nor had I taken any course in philosophy.
Furthermore, I have read very little though there are some philosophers who are close to my heart---Montaigne, Marcus Aurelius, Epicurus, Seneca, Epictectus, Nietzsche, Sartre, Camus and a few more.

However, I have plunged myself into the writings of Confucius, Lao-Tze (author of Tao Te-Ching) and his followers', Buddhism and Zen.

I never planned to write this 'life series'-- after having written a few,
I couldn't stop. But these were not 'forced' thoughts--it's as though they had been latent somewhere in the labyrinth of my mind--in incubation-  waiting for the right time to hatch.

A writer must have honesty and integrity.  I did not have a book in front of me so that I could copy an idea and then ventured to restate in my own words--all the ideas I have expressed are my own.  
It's intrinsically me thinking about life and my own experiences
and my way of perceiving things.

They had been written at home, in the tram, in the library, in coffee-joints--even mentally when I had my regular walks.

No doubt, some would not agree with what I have said and I am not the least offended or unhappy in any way as such---I welcome their comments so that I could re-examine what I had expressed. I would even learn from them.  

I realised right from the start that I could inadvertently stir up a hornet's nest but I was prepared to take that risk, even to the extent of
being challenged or ridiculed.

No one looks at life in the same way as we are all unique.  At the same time, none has the monopoly of knowledge or wisdom--not even the brightest among us.  Life is such that we could only understand some parts of it with most being unknowable.  There are limits to our understanding but we don't throw our hands in the air and give up-
we are thinking creatures and are never content to stay stagnant-
it's in our nature to explore, to reach out, to understand and try to make sense of things that matter or our life would have little meaning or value- we have to push frontiers and test our limits to be able to come to our own.  

It's in the light of the above that I have marshalled enough courage to
write this 'life-series'.

I sincerely hope that readers would come forward to talk to me.

My best wishes to all of you.
4th December 2017, Melbourne