Oh no, far remote-
I am not a poet though
poetry I write
as I know
I am but a tiny bit of sand
somewhere on the poetic shore
not worthy to be noticed
to be washed away by the tide-  no more
than a fallen leaf
from the giant poetic oak
that has stood so majestically and serenely
with the loftiest and most sublime voice it spoke

A very thin piece of paper
can cut as deeply as a knife
this proves that what's potent
has nothing to do with size

I thrive on commonsense
to me much of philosophy is nonsense

I've to take leave
for your sake:
staying on an extra moment
will only cause you more heartache-

it's the dictate of fate:
we aren't made
for each other
we've to break

this had been steel-cast
long even before we met :
it'd be a true blessing
not to remember but to forget-

farewell, farewell now
my once dearest beloved
when you see the stars in your loneliness
a single tear you shouldn't shed

I prefer the unexamined life

            lesser I cogitate-- suffer little from strife

You don't need
to apologise to life
or people
if you had not
gone out
to deliberately
hurt any

if
in failing yourself
all that is necessary
would be not
to repeat such
in future

we are all fallible
we live far from the ideal:
in accepting ourselves
we move on
hoping to be
better individuals

We should be able to define
our life in just one line

With all others
you are engaged so busily
but have no time set aside
for an appointment with yourself--sadly

Grant me faith
not will
and my heart
will be calm and still

A good sleep
is a prayer
answered

First Verse of a Love-song (never completed)



Love is not one

but two

it's called

two-gather..........



(from John Lennon's hidden notebook--through my eyes)

Not knowing enough
I've learnt to shut up

To be recognised
is to be agonised

Standing out
I can't ever reach
poetry's exquisite portal
I'm never outstanding.

People like to gossip
when they GO with their friends
to places where tea or coffee they SIP.

Don't 'bring me to books'
my collection has over 500
my library can hold no more
this would cause me much grievous dread

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'.

We are not reason

but mood

which decides

whether we feel bad or good

Don't break

create instead

......but I don't need

to bet on anything

as I'm self-sufficient

Life is best lived when you've done with like or dislike

A rare moment of insight
could be worth more than
the knowledge acquired over a whole life-time.

In response to a post on Aldous Huxley's idea on intellectualism:

I read his PERENNIAL PHILOSOPHY when I was 20. But I am not an intellectual--I am one who values feelings and sentiments more, rationality much less.

Being deeply influenced by Zen and Taoism,  I keep an open and unfettered mind which allows me to be intuitive and free.
Re: IN THE FOOTSTEPS OF ZEN- THE PATH TO A CALMER AND HAPPIER LIFE, 2018, 2021 and 2024,  on sale in over a dozen countries

Are things real
or but symbols?
each a facade and masquerade?
must we decipher and peel?

Words are more troublesome
tricky, murky, riddlesome, mischievous
all that is seems to be obscurity-bred
and what I'm writing you'd say: that's impervious!

Are we then all existentialists
hopeless travellers over life-time?
are we being absurd ,as life seems to be empty
bereft of content and all that's deemed sublime?

time is worse than an executor
who  kills but once--it clings to the flesh--nothing does it relish
it festers and speaks no kind words
only that humans are born to perish


transient is human joy
brittle is its hope
old age creeps in too soon
(it's hard for existentialists to cope)

the waiting
the sighing
the heaving
the suffocating

the questioning
the doubting
the monotonous and inane grinding
which all seems to know no ending

but we are all existentialists anyhow
bearing the cross of being in the here and now

Some will like you

others, perhaps not

if you like yourself- you can keep

everyone else from your thought

You just said
after what you saw:
'Are you OK?'
when my foot was caught by the door!

'Are you OK?'
I replied very angrily
if I were so, would I
be writing this ****-poetry?

Don't ask me today:
   'Are you OK?'
    just got the sack
    what do you expect me to say?

Sick and nauseated by
'Are you OK?'
as though you anticipated
my:  ' Bad day,  not OK!'

'Are you OK?'
my answer is: NO!
BTW, it's none of your business
you don't need to know!

'Are you OK?'
you aren't my father
why should you care?
you are a real bother!

After the week-end horse--race
it was all written over my face
and you came along with your: Are you OK?
you deserve a big punch on your ugly face!

'Are you OK?'
  how do I look? (I replied in rage)
  didn't you read? My name came out
in today's  'Bankruptcy Page'

' Are you OK?'
  you mean lousy *******
the whole town knew
I was deserted by Lady Lovebird.

' Are you OK?'
  but do I look great?
  had a burst tire
  for work would be late!

It would be a sheer waste
of time for us to argue
in the last analysis
I am I and you are you!

I have tried all my life

but no wisdom did I find

half-way I'd to turn back

still with a doubtful and empty mind

We take the present
for granted and stare
blankly into the future remote
as though we wish to be anchored there

a rose-coloured dreamscape
we carve from our wild imagination
our chagrin and angst we seek to escape
but end up in the wrong direction

the minutes tick on
the hours on our plight they prey
a mirage deceives our eyes
there's but darkness all the way

but all we have is the now
on such ground is our play
tomorrows*  is another land
that shouldn't be our foray.

Life offers everyone
but two arrows and no more
if you missed with the first
and repeated- you have courted your own sorrow!

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

Art is long
life is short
l'll not wait-
I'll go for both

how intensely they burn
their fires I'll stoke
I'm the blacksmith
I'll not miss a single stroke!

* poem mentally written when I was awake at 7.30 a.m. just now

It can be no great art
without the touch of the heart

My ship has anchored
on Merry Village at last
after ten thousand miles at sea
and now rest I must.

I'll get drunk all day long
worry into the waters I'll cast
I'll count my silver and gold
in which I've placed my trust.

The sweetest maid I'll marry
my loneliness I'll put to rust
the village shall hail me as hero
I'm no longer the poor lad of the past.

A fund I'll set up for the needy
  I'll name it The Merry Village Trust
  no child shall live in poverty
  my dream I've realised at last.

Life is such
you can't always smile
some people annoy you
be nasty---once a while!

Think not of a second chance
now is the hour to be
time disappears after a single glance
I thrive as I've seized the opportunity.

I don't ever want
a second in-come
knowing that killing myself
would be the ultimate out-come

I'll no longer deliberate
not on my side anymore is time
old age comes too soon and is abhorred
it announces: 'Beware of the pending final outcome'.

I'll no longer weep
tears should be left
buried under the river
of the past--not to be delved.

I'll no longer beg to be loved
it shall be mine if such I deserve
if I've been true and in faith abided
love's gentle cradle shall be my preserve.

I'll no longer be on any search
joys and sorrows--they have my life shaped
into the labyrinth of my heart they have ******
in their wordless mysteries I'm draped.

It matters not
whether it's old or new:
it will stand the test
of time, if it's true

One doesn't have to be a scholar
to qualify as a good writer
while a scholar
is not necessarily a good writer.