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

Dear Esteemed Karina,  they are both exquisite. If I say I like this one, I would do injustice to the other.  Each creates its own mood and exudes its own depth and beauty.  If you ask me to compare the beauty of two women, I would have the same problem, so I say--they both have their individual charm.



Haiku on 'the abstract light blue'



Feelings have their moods

sad hearts tend to prefer blue

sort of pain subdued.



Haiku on 'Wintry Evening'



Wintry evening

grey shadows descend on trees

not a soul in sight

Frost
a word
that chills
my spine
don't quite know
why
are my winter-years
telling on me?
have I given up
my toast
of younger days
when life meant
the most
to my brave
and proud heart
when I knew
but kisses and wonders
and no tears?

did love fail me
and beauty hide away?
was it my fault?
when life froze?

how many winters
would come when most
had run their course
and left but sad traces?
now fled is the splendour
what's left of youth to boast?

this is the time
the curtain to draw
I long for sleep
I have no more promises
to keep
all my feelings
are numb
buried in frost.

Which direction ahead should I take?
    I don't trust the GPS
    the surest road-map is kept
    in my heart and I don't have to guess

    my love, hold my hand
    we will sing and we will talk
    remembering the time when we first pledged our love
    I'll love you even more with every step we walk

I'll not talk
of the end of time
only say: I hope
for the best outcome

IT’S JUST THE THING

Birds  must sing
lovers must  love
poets  must write
the sky must hang above
(It’s just the thing)

If love is just the thing
wouldn’t it be easy
for you to say
you love me?

I was a child then
leaves and flowers
I adored even when
they were drenched in rain-showers.

My joys multiplied
foliage of every kind
stirred my imagination
deep impressions it left behind

seamless colours, shapes, sizes
a collage that did humble
the paintings of the masters
whatever genius they did assemble

time has stolen such grace and majesty
old age is telling on my face
I'd gladly perish with every
flower or leaf where belongs my place.

'Leaning'
a word
that unsettles
can't I stand
on MY own?

a leading-on
towards something
that's not myself?

is it fear
desperation
doubt
a need
restlessness
confusion
hopelessness?


holding on to
a doctrine
a dogma
an idea
a cause
a leader
an advisor
a teacher
a benefactor?

bewildered
lonely and lost
it does seem
akin to submitting
to a power external
with no faith
in my strength internal--

throw away
I must
the crutch
of false comfort
that would render
me smaller
than what
I am
or could be
only then
would I recover
all that I've lost
and from
the highest mountain
look down
upon the world
and all the people around
and shout
clear and loud:
I am my own Ulysses
even sailing under
the wildest sea
and the darkest cloud
I am the invincible me
leaning on nothing--finally
I score my self-defining victory!

What did I fail to do today?
Am I trying to brush the issue away?

Let us mend ourselves first

before we can reach out to others

Neuro--plasticity----in language simple and plain
is re-organisation of your brain.

What will I be
fed on today?
I like this uncertainty
as I make my way.

Why the rush
the eagerness to know?
sunset is not yet
the day still retains its glow-

rest will soothe my bones by dusk
and sleep will accompany  me till the morrow
there will be time abundant to ponder
I won't allow any anxiety to grow-

how patient is the rosebud
time it abides by to silently blow
summer walks just behind spring
in the right season it will follow--

and you, my beloved
away too soon I shouldn't go
my hidden words are yet to unfold
the moon its full radiance is waiting to proudly show.

There's a chapter of your life
that could never be closed
you will recall the time
when love in gaiety posed
in the greenfield of your youth-
you wouldn't stay but walked away
though there was splendour among the hills
and the sun was bursting-red in passion
surely you should have harkened to your heart's thrills?
but no!   why? your fancy was wild
another was waving from the other end
she was fairer and her light-brown hair
was drifting in the breeze bearing her seductive scent-
you didn't say goodbye while you left
you didn't explain why--
she stood still as though in a daze
there was a tear in her eye...

two decades had travelled by
to that once-green field you returned thereafter
this time weary and disenchanted to regret and cry
she who was faithful had belonged to another.

Life has spoken:
'death is never strong
its darkness and doom has been broken
the living will in triumph ever move along-

youth's dreams shall not be forgotten
its innocence has recorded no wrong
love and beauty to its heart is given
let it then sing its immortal song'.

But from you
I can't untie
breathe with me
share my every sigh

knot invisible
love I could never deny
the world and life are not
unless there's you and I

I should not be afraid
to talk to the moon and every star
the world belongs to those who dare dream
with love no dream is ever far
and I shall crown thee
the queen of my dream
I compare thee with the shining diamonds
in the sky---but still brighter you do beam

Promises the morning not for once does make
I have to find the day's meaning for my own sake

I would not stay
a moment longer
the message is in your eyes
accusing me as the wrong doer-

I would not speak
every word I had spoken before
the grassland and sea had heard
my every syllable and song before-

I would not remind
love should its constancy know
imprinted in my faithful heart
such I need not prove or show-

I would not plead
supplication would be in vain
of the past's splendour I thought
now an endless chronicle of pain-

I would not harbour
any anger or hate
new love you have found
that joy is yours to celebrate-

I would not return
I have nothing here more to claim
empty is the heart that does no longer yearn
the winds of fate have spoken and swept away my name.

Malice is clever
  an innocent face it wears
  sharper than a cleaver
  the victim it callously tears.

The ravage and scourge of time
joys marred and hopes muzzled
moments tested and inchoate
experiences which puzzled

for life is a silent drawn- out drama
its sides are prickly and they bristle
there are long dark nights to endure
dreams are frail and brittle

foundations are rotting and are unstable
many unsuspecting fall into dire quagmire
views ahead seem like green fields but deceive
they are mirages and spell the demise of desire

the endless quest and the inane weariness
the world has its beauty lost and has grown old
sighs, regrets, despair, unrest and doubt fill the daily page
the existential angst of living is told and retold.

This is no season
for me an old man
to be a dream-chaser
what has gone before
is dust and debris now
there's nothing beyond-

the fence that encloses me
within its bound
mocks me relentlessly
if I should ever wander
to the green pastures
of the long ago

it shows no sympathy
it judges harshly
it doesn't mince its words:
'  let your fancy go to sleep
  unforgiving is memory
  let it rest and nothing should you keep

  you had the chance then
for your every pick
the sunshine of time
has sunk into the abyss
of night.  Your steps
you won't be able to retrace
don't you feel
the heaviness of your heart
your fading voice
your faltering feet
and the fatigue of love
and the shying-away of beauty?'

This is the season
of remorse
of regret
of pain
the cessation
of passion
when what's left
is but dreams broken
and forgotten

the last melancholic notes
of a once proud and bold love-song.

Could love be
too much, in fine excess?
what would it do to you?
would that be blissful happiness?

What should love be then?
but what's just enough?
who's the giver and receiver-
of what build is their amorous stuff?

Some want without satiety
for others, a bit would suffice
how would you define yourself?
think carefully, yourself you would surprise.

And now, you turn to me to ask
to what category do I belong
silly me,  I never put myself to task-
I love in every way that does no wrong.

Life is more about the heart
than the mind --the brain scientists don't know
enough--they generalise as such suits them-
theories-what theories?  Are they the foe

then, claiming that everything is reason-locked?
if every moment we have to knock on the mind's door and ask:
what should I do next,? we might as well
say good-bye to life forever since that would be an impossible task.

Sea of blue flowers
watched by silent cottages
early blush of spring

Beth, geniuses are driven by a force within which they can't shake off.  However much they might resist, the voice doesn't go away--it reaches the point that makes them delirious or mad--that's when they realise the gift is a curse and they have to pay a price in suffering and torment.  They ask themselves: Is this worth the price?

Yet, it's their misery that gives the world the gift of infinite beauty, wonder and awe.  We are the benefactors of their suffering.

The first duty of the mind

is to know its proper place

that of the heart is to advise

the mind the meaning of beauty and grace

burst of Spring sunshine
market bustles with gaiety
children **** ice-creams

silence in the wood
a bird flits from tree to tree
shaking a few leaves

Secrets of the heart
recent or old
wounds that wouldn't heal
never to be told-

secrets of the heart
not even the dearest would know
love takes many a role
in joy or sorrow-

secrets of the heart
hidden in chambers only too cold
won't melt ever in the strongest heat
not a word would they unfold-

secrets of the heart
as on my dying bed I lie
they will be buried with me
none need ask: Why?

When a single line
has greater depth
than a thousand
and is long in memory kept

The world is made for everyone

as for me, it's always one-to-one

I will be caught
  in the end
  and chastised
  if I write
  to be recognised
  for in that guise
  a victim I will fall
  to silly pride

a  simple stringer
of words and thoughts
through the tumble
of life
a scribbler
a dabbler
a story-teller
on the insignificant side

let the real bards sing
I'll listen in deference
in humility abide

for a small voice
am I
that truth
I shouldn't deny

In the train you found to your consternation
your wallet you had lost--what a disaster!
you couldn't pay the fare of $2 and was in desperation
that unkempt man handed you the sum--he was a beggar!

Be aware that you don't become
what others expect of you

LIFE AND I

Life sends me an invitation
‘ Let’s have a conversation’
  I decline without hesitation-
‘ I need not your explanation’.

Enough conversation I have had through life
With my own heart---in every season--
Words are but shadows of truth, they cajole
Must everything have a reason?

I should be as empty
As the open sky
I should dwell in wordless nature
I should not ask: Why?

How calm is the dusk
How serenely does the night fall
I wake, I work, I sleep, I dream---
Only that I know---it’s my all-in-all.

Written in the tram to the city

Bitterest winter
   all cottage windows are shut
   faint violin strains

Too soon the hours of mine will be over
there's still light, to love and beauty I must surrender

9102---no more humans
  people are robots and machines
  far, far away from primitive 2019
  metal parts become skins-

  words court a 99.99% death
those forbidden are 'love', 'beauty'
'feelings' and 'heart'--- it's a new earth
with reference to none---named 'Synchronicity'

A poem
is a slice of the heart
much, much more
than a written art.

I don't need
to say yes or no
what my heart holds
you completely know

2019 the new year
  but what would be new?
  after the turkey and beer
  wouldn't it be the same grumpy you?

Conversation faded in neglect
dialogue abruptly stopped
next, civilisation lost its voice
yet none seemed to have sobbed-

each of us lives apart
we no longer have a face
machines have taken over
our minds and hearts they replace-

mute is our every voice
for us who or what would make a case?
Orwellian nights cast long shadows
dreams and hopes they displace-

where's joy, if any is left?
usurped what was once beauty's place
we wake to a nightmarish morrow
where life is the very death of grace

Grant me freedom
over wisdom
it's that which
knows no age-term

It's not what life could do
for me that matters
but what I could do
with my life. This stand
I've made and will not waver
or myself I'd have betrayed
and die with dreams unfulfilled--

life will be my tool
and not my master.

LOVE IS SUCH AN EASY THING

Men love women
Women also love men
Men woo women
Who say ‘Amen’.

Women also woo men
Men happily respond to women
Since love is such easy consent
What’s all the fuss about then?

INFINITY

Close your eyes
feel a star
falling
into your hand

open your heart
let love enter
that star
is for whom you adore

We each have a story to share

      but sadly most are not keen to hear

      I keep a diary everywhere

      I record my every joy or fear

FIVE HAIKU (6th COLLECTION)

1

The bird soared on high
too soon lost amidst the clouds
I watched and waited

2

Music heard at night
always makes me want to weep
what's in my heart?

3

In the crowded train
the mobile is life-saviour
it's the daily food

4

At a concert hall
wife whispered to the husband
Mozart was not deaf

5

The sky meets the sea
now your eyes are meeting mine
I know what they mean

Meditation-where you will find
the spring-cleaning of your mind