24 October 2006
The clouds search for you
The clouds search for you,
in places deep and lonely,
in the dark wholesome beauty,
will some light remain?
some distant whispers in the night time.
Will it ever be enough?
the suspicion of things beginning,
when cravings are light and hungry,
for the fulness of life is found without
without these things.
But thirst begets thirst,
in the sunlight,
all remains shrouded in clear darkness,
but will you allow her,
to find you?
Find what? But distant memories,
tucked behind shelves,
and inner guilts,
food for tomorrow's winter,
such that to inflict weather's bite,
is to remain prosperous in the event of darkness.
With or without you,
the heart ponders,
the likelihood of things,
things that dismay.
To one like me.
Where did we begin?
When shadows seemed too dark to swallow?
When I was hungry for light?
Did I settle for something less?
Why was I so smitten,vulnerable to that which I must say no to.
The laughs which bought me now mock me,
and are as distant to love as memory is to the real.
The proximity of speech lulled my desire into friendship,
with a dream whose ambition was to stay.
The yearning of years were to last forever,
forever kept in silence,
and perhaps the love of God was torn between creature and truth.
The anguish of both somewhat suffered on the cross.
The words juggled between both hearts were in fact mere arrows,
The sunrise and sunsets were seen on islands apart,
and were never shared,
one for fear,
the other indifference.
But this is my story,
The book has not ended,
and the pages have already torn,
and the ink bleeds with tears.
I saw you in everything,
in every touch with the sky
in the clouds sailing by,
the breath of God resting on my heart,
the water which dissolves into the earth.
I longed for you more than thirst knew.
And I trapped myself in stones to be trampled upon,
by mad incessant longing.
In the hope that some eye could see you,
breaking my heart,
burning into ash.
I longed for you to hurt me,
that at least you could not be forgotten,
I carved my heart to love you by making you hurt me.
Indifference was enough for me,
May you not see me in your dreams,
the consummation of all my desires is that you close the door.
But if you will, don't
But if you must,
which you must...
then let me have your sorrow and mine,
that you might live in gay light,
let me suffer for something impossible,
let me suffer if all that I can have is that,
only this can you give me.
And I shall bring you where there is darkness,
so that you can see the light,
let me be dissolved into your ocean of death,
for there is one part of you left which you neglect.
Let me have your death, that you may have life.
Where clouds are watching,
the truth will pierce me and set me free.
27 August 2006
The sun fell into the sea,
and you wonder sometimes,
if this time will be the first,
that its strength is wasted,
and will float no more,
to cheer human hearts.
3 August 2006
When I was lost from you,
the sun rose,
and the sun set.
16 July 2006
I found you in faces I could not see
26 April 2006
Eternity rests on this,
to know everything,
to cease to be the known,
and to stop pretending we are conscious of life.
That is what love is,
it's not a destination you have the potential to reach to,
but a consummation of all that was true,
there is no time.
17 April 2006
The distant sounds,
of water it can be said,
it can be sung,
if a lark could...
to make words speak,
without sorrow,
to beg a description of a world,
that for now is in no disrepair,
where tears are lacking,
and no souls are pining.
To me at least,
words are absent as,
sorrows efface.
31 March 2006
On the eve of April fool's,
The clocks took a second longer,
Thing's change.
19 January 2006
On the run,
on the run.
Time spares no mercy,
for she demands of you,
an achievement,
and so this is what 'reality' tells us.
...and...
I wonder,
whether all is what we think it is.
The finger gymnastics with computer keys.
The beatific gaze into a screen shining light rays.
The hours spent imagining something that truly,
is not real?
Is it well spent?
For none of these profit me,
none of these profit a soul,
but we are easily bought.
17 January 2006
Today the wind blows,
in one direction not known before,
it is not fate,
but chance,
the path precedes the founder.
But make haste,
give no thought of securing dreams,
The clouds will take you there,
as long as there are tears to cry.
...and...
Some clouds break the skies,
wherever the wind hails them.
...and...
Light tears their innocence,
for want of freedom itself,
for want of freedom,
the world turns.
So this is why we dream,
because prisons have only recourse to windows,
and windows never contain but foreshadow.
To Henry and Poppy,
Dream and live that dream that dreams and dreams.
There is not truth but dreams.
And clouds always watch,
when none else is watching.
8 January 2006
Back then,
I was awake when I was asleep,
And the music was continuous,
And the clouds searched for me,
Through the windows so little,
Each morning, they were not the same.
All night,
They glowed and sailed upon a windless sky,
Since these ships ride not on currents nor dreams,
But float on wings that we give them,
The sheer hope,
Not only that someone else is watching,
But that dreams make reality…
And…
Reality moves to where our dreams are.
On clouds, always on clouds.
Tell me what you think of now?
If I should cling on to something unreal…
Am I dreaming or are ‘we’ still?
Because on December one and twenty,
Perhaps on every year,
A reason escapes me.
If all those years, were worth it,
And if the life I am living was based
on some unfortunate thirst.
And since distance is multiplication,
Each fantasy or fact is overwhelming,
And is beyond belief or mistake.
Tell me, would you regret telling me,
That the truth is not something to be told,
But that by your silence, the truth will be for my dreams.
We can keep a lie easier than to expose the truth.
Waking up is only difficult,
When you know your dreams,
Cannot be lived in.
12 December 2005
Horizons rising
The twitching eyes,
Perhaps awake when it shouldn’t be,
Tried to perceive more,
Much more than there was.
Morning from evening,
Soon shredded their differences,
And we were both found lacking,
Of the essential happiness.
And so that day,
The clouds rearranged themselves,
And not for vanity,
Did the wheels screech that noon.
‘Tis not for vanity,
that the morning conspired with midday,
such that there shall arise,
a spectacle to manifest doubts about character.
Doubts on myself,
Doubts of really knowing what is going on,
And whether raindrops have any recourse to rescue their fates.
Or whether character can be saved,
Or if temptation has any friend but loneliness,
When two were asleep such places could meet,
But only as islands floating on the tempestuous sea.
And how you were fooled,
And how I don’t know,
And how I must not.
You can have the better of us.
An emotive cacophony
Chains,
Chains could I have for you,
For you to be near,
When all is passing.
When for me the sea and sky are one red,
And water and darkness are the same,
So that you can breathe everything I am,
And it isn’t just interest that drives me,
Beyond the bed,
There is rage, rage, rage.
There is rage, when in tranquility,
Rage when I am absent,
Rage when I am near everything that I love.
Rage,
When I am consumed by helplessness,
When all that is dear to me is not dear.
Rage,
Because you cannot see it,
You can’t see the whole thing,
The whole of me.
Because,
I cannot consume those whom I live in,
And every word falls short.
I speak to no one.
1 December 2005
The night sky,
Found two waiting souls,
On the eve of December.
Awaiting someone,
something,
that was to come,
who had no time,
no distance.
…And…
you could not tell if she, he or it
was there.
So the starless sky wept,
Wept behind the curtains of dust,
She wept alone,
Since she is waiting too,
Maybe waiting for Two.
…And…
the cars went by with much haste,
a haste to befit the eve,
the eve of a December.
This December,
Is what Two of us are waiting for,
But we really cannot tell December from January.
…And…
Neither can the roof above us tonight,
Nor the men who pave the roads,
Or the trolley between us,
Or the streetlights that darken the day,
And this road beneath us,
Carries many expectations,
And failures that people hide.
This matters little,
Tonight we have both of us,
Tonight the world turns,
And the world rushes us,
But the sky, she stays awake,
Behind a blanket of doubts and sadness,
A place is made for us each day.
…And…
it resides in the stares of darkness,
between Two,
Two Souls tonight,
Watching the dawn of a new day,
From darkness to darkness,
In an insignificant place,
By the trolley,
On a bridge between two nothings,
Suspended on the words of
Two.
21 November 2005
Darkness…
Within.
No escape for the sun,
Who slumbers,
While the night is shining.
And my sin doth multiply,
And breed monsters,
Too horrifying to evade,
To avoid the stare.
The stare of sin himself.
The hollowness of sin’s mercy,
The fullness of evil,
The intoxicating perfume of lust.
But alas… with the faint light,
Of beauty,
Of truth,
To absolve,
To make anew,
What rots from within…
Father forgive.
Waiting
Sorrow’s tears,
Sizzle to thin air,
In the parched land,
The promised sky,
Of a land under the,
Southern Cross.
A tear drops,
Too many ‘sighs’ from,
Familiarity.
Too many stone’s throw away-s,
Too many empty hopes.
Today a tear weeps,
Somewhere near you,
From somewhere, someone.
Between the lost and unfound,
Unfound to the smiles,
Which soon passed, passed,
Away, too far away…
17 November 2005
The chords,
They are still playing,
With no fatigue
It is as if,
they have…
They have always been playing
Where there was no sorrow
To end joy
And joy…
Limitless.
Remember,
Those who have ears,
For there will come a time,
When nothing can be heard.
This sound is ours.
Spiegel im Spiegel,
Annum per annum,
Per omnia saecula saeculorum.
11 November 2005
The Land,
She carved out a sky for herself,
It is her own.
The Land of the South says,
This sky,this sky is mine,
And the sky has never been smaller since.
This Sky,
She does not open or close,
She has all in all.
11 October 2005
The archives of early 2005
You, my fondest memory,
Too dry my eyes,
For me crying is not in tears,
But in the dryness of my heart.
O Empty Land,
I beseech the Almighty,
May your shores hasten,
Come quickly and be once again discovered.
The clouds are watching,
Up here we are alone,
Here is the Almighty and us,
For my love is precious
And only he is worthy to see You.
You who I miss and love since the second past
Always too late or too early?
I forsake not this one way street
For true it is that I would rather die
Than to deny you, my blessing.
Come close, forsake not my cries,
Come into the clouds,
Here there is no beginning and surely,
There is no end.
I will never forget the truth.
Why, why love are you always a distant memory.
Will you remember me before all of this is done?
Missing you terribly.
How does counting measure guilt or sadness? By tears or shouts? It is emptiness, an emptiness that cannot be inhabited, only this remains real sadness.
Land of the South,
Great land, hear me,
Not through my voice but by my absence.
By this you know that I am not there,
But here…
Here where all longing brims over,
Where it knows not yesterday, neither tomorrow,
All is but now, this present darkness,
Always the sun shining in all places,
Save on me.
Here, not there,
There is nothing, nothing that I can hear,
And my sleep is rarely at peace with the night,
I am there, but I am here.
All I can see and hear is absent from me,
Absent until tomorrow?
But can I measure that distance?
From here, here, here.
Look, and see there is nothing that parts me from sorrows shadow.
A cloud hangs over all, and even in clarity a shows is lit for me.
I am patience that can no longer wait,
Forgive me but faint is my soul that knows no consolation,
And I am tired of questioning possibilities,
Too tired.
O Land of the South,
Do you not sense me,
I am no longer on thee.
…but neither am I in your clouds or your seas.
Sweet pearls, sweet pearls, how will I,
Remember you if I do not write it down.
Ever so soft is the memory,
So tender in its waiting,
I gaze behind a wall, awaiting,
But thick as the wall, this hope is hard,
And many dreams perish for lack of heart.
Too long I had waited, until all of it was gone.
Now,
What do I possess now,
Emptiness all around me,
No warmth, no ‘mates’,
But a silence between myself and I,
None to greet me,
None to share.
But alone, I must walk,
In silent ‘meadows’
In dreams, it is my penance still,
For their I escape into reality,
It is true this is how I saw it.
But like drops of rain,
It is all gone now.
And you but a sheet of paper,
Remember this scratching,
This mark of history,
For one day you shall remind me,
Still.
When will it pass?
Sorrow clings to my soul.
A heavy anchor in this dream,
Of petite gifts of joys.
So soon they come and then disappear,
Again and again.
And I am left alone,
While you are there still, in comfort,
Is there any room for me left in your soul,
I come knocking but you are quiet.
Why will you not say a word,
For this is nothing
For you I am nothing.
But.
Remember the beach always…
Else I will remember it, I will
for both of us.
24 March 2005
I walked in the rain yesterday,
But the rain walked on me,
The clouds are still watching.
Tear it away, tear it all the way,
And at the end you will find,
No beginning.
So which way should you start?
The heavens are spilling over but you can’t catch it.
Something Else told me.
“You told me so…”
Who? Something Else.
Did I understand before I was understood?
And which needs my attention.
Sometimes we miss people so dearly because we fear that we not missed in return.
I saw you on the beach before I was born.
The sea, no one can command, and that is why it is beyond any criticism or envy.
I have no need of sorrow than she does of me. That is why she haunts you when you are least distracted.
28th March 2005 Easter Monday
Enough to keep me going but the clouds aren’t enough… the clouds are still watching, but I must hide still.
From Final Project 2004
A new day like yesterday. All the same and likewise no different that the newness of passing hours. How is it that these souls come tirelessly in tens and twenties to see the same Lord they saw a day ago, at the same time? The sun still sets and rises and these souls come begging for mercy through their endless Confiteors and Kyrie Eleisons.
Once in a while and not for long, the sun awakens as the clouds joyfully draw their veiling curtains. The stained glass widows, burst into fervent praise, splashing its steady rivers of fiery light on the watchful gothic arches in the nave.
By the corner of the sacristy appears the brilliant light of the Mercy Chapel, a peeling landscape of spirals. Amidst the eucalypts, skins of frozen light dance while the wind swims between the limbs of trees. Hidden behind this porous light fabric in the broad daylight are the souls on their ascent of their own ‘Mount Carmel’. It is the outside that is hidden from us., The sound of distant traffic or the rustling of leaves still whisper behind a thin curtain bordering the ;outside.
Slowly and repetitiously we climb these rivers to ‘heaven’ whose monotonous paths lull the souls into a prayer of both soul and body. Like rosary beads, walls of light guide the meandering soul on a journey, with words of wisdom and images of familiar creations in this Antipodean land.
Alas, the ascent is now ‘complete’ only to lead you onto another spiral closer to the heart of this place. This time, the path seems clear and easier as the weight of the empty centre pulls you in unconsciously. Echoes and chants of prayers become the breath of this place under the mercy of heavenly light falling for the pity of mortals. This place so recognizable but so distant from its centre, since that which is desired is missing, not unlike Mercy which we bed from the recesses of our hearts.
July 5 2004
A drop of water
Suspends on the edge of a leaf
Waiting for the kiss of earth
Imagine that
The sound of water dripping,
All over a forest
A symphony of drops
So quiet, unknown to our ears
This drop
A small thing
A small nothing
A small something but nothing
Nothing to us.
A small drop of water
Is no earthly treasure
For from the heavens it cometh
From the heavens
But we see not it
Too small, and too large
For mere human touch.
But is real
Real nonetheless
This drop of water
Traverses a great distance
Many miles from heaven
Does it descend
And very often, its death as a drop
Yields aplenty
A richer harvest
A fertile ground
Freely, freely the heavens open
For us
These drops are joyful tears
From heaven’s eyes
What gifts, great gifts,
For the ungrateful
The unloved
For what good has man
To deserve these.
The sky has the entire world of words
The apocalyptic vision
Listen…
you will see…
when I take you there…
there you will find…
and the scales shall drop from you eyes…
yes you will know…
if you try…
a place where there is no fear.
For now…
all changes…
then all will change…
we too…
and a new dawn…
but not without me…
and the same thing…
now and eternal…
two and one…
where there is no doubt…
only light.
Now you and I…
these perish…
then change…
and open your eyes…
clouds will not cover…
while the spirit will see…
you and me…
with strangers who are friends…
and soon…
but not now.
I see glory…
but forever…
in your eyes…
will I see them…
and behold…
not just me…
here and there…
all dreams…
and the skies…
of gold and treasure…
and dawn…
always begins…
never ends
If you will be mine…
then…
but soon…
not so soon…
joyful desires…
echoes of memory…
all return…
when…
and all I saw…
was there…
not here…
some place…
at the blink of an eye…
I saw everything.
30th September 2005
Remembering…
The wind tells me everything.
In front,
A frame awaits,
Look, your life is passing, passing away.
Could you arrest the past -the present, I mean?
The rain just pours.
But the memory of the past,
It doesn’t wash away,
Like a pond receiving its wages,
The past brims over, always saturated.
And the past rolls on,
Today is never today,
Tomorrow is today,
Today is yesterday.
And soon the past is,
What you make now.
The author of the past
Is not time,
But an inertia.
A force which resists effacing,
Which soon becomes a mould,
And the author is you… I
26th September 2005
Salty breezes,
Salty whispers,
Why do you leave me
Hoping that you will blow from the past?
Or that maybe the clouds would sail,
The other way for once?
On that bridge I left you
With no salt left between my feet.
The night owl,
Comes warning me,
Of nothing,
Warning me that,
Tomorrow comes,
It just comes,
Without you desiring it,
A gift or a curse,
The night owl says nothing.
10th September 2005
Music is the sound of death,
Recalling dreams that are forgotten.
The Score
Always trying to understand the score,
We evolve into monsters,
Ready to strike,
When the score is needed,
To judge success or failure,
Not dreams and dreams.
Death is good, insofar as it brought and brings life.
An icon is a port, which makes invisible travel possible.
What is invisible distance
On August
I apologise for such a dry month,
But I just could not write,
I had no angels waiting,
4th August 2005
Sometimes the greatest fear arises from
Doubting tomorrow’s promise,
Which could be better,
But at what cost?
26 July 2005
Something arriving,
Is it here?
Is it now?
Is it…
That?...
All in all,
You are all,
We are all,
There is not one, but infinity…
One is for the weak mortal, infinity is for the divine.
Lord I wish not that,
You come to me,
More than I am with Thee,
In everything,
I wish that I am all things to you,
Before you are all things to me.
Because you are all,
But man only sees one by one.
The truth is I do not know I am writing.
Nothing ‘at’ all,
Nothing is only true,
If it is all nothing,
All can only be nothing,
If the something is lost,
Something is subjective,
Because it assumes separation,
But if all is nothing;
Nothing is all,
Because there is no person,
No I,
But all;
Nothing…
No us,
No them,
No we,
No body,
No,
…
…
All.
24 July 2005
At dusk…
Where do memories go?
Do they conclude?
Do they hide for another day?
At dusk…
Where and what closes?
What is complete?
Nothing…
Nothing, save for the reassurance,
That time goes where it pleases,
And your dusk is ,
a moon rising,
or a sun rising,
a day.
A night closer.
The sun doesn’t regret its closing,
Why should you fear your dusk?
On Benedict’s window
I am dreaming of some place,
Above the clouds,
To be with you, whoever…
I don’t know,
But I know you are real.
If I don’t have the cross,
I will die of my sins.
When I am lost, I am found,
I am found by Him,
By He who I cannot know,
There, in complete loss,
Loss of place and words,
I dwell.
Words are pointless,
They are too stubborn,
to carry descriptions.
Words are only representing,
Themselves.
I want to tell you,
You are listening…
That I am bored,
I mean I am so familiar,
I am familiar to be,
Found in a desert of banality.
Hours from now,
I will ascend sleepers,
To be poised behind an interface,
To fake wonderment and interest,
To engage in a mental marathon,
To know whether time is moving faster than desire.
To pretend not to be bored,
Is so difficult.
I would rather watch,
The moving shadows traced from my moving hand,
As I write this.
I ‘d rather see myself from the outside,
Watching myself,
Pretending I do not know I am being spied upon,
Pretending I am the music being played by a stereo.
Life, the real life as they want to call it,
Is so boring because they make into fantasy,
What is true,
When truth is the real fantasy.
I cannot worship an architect !
I am called to do this every day.
The most humbling act of faith is,
Asking God, if there is room for one more,
One more sinner in heaven, that is … me…
To the one who watches me
This moment…
I am in love with the paper I am,
Writing on,
This moment ,
I must confess, I am watching you watch me.
Can you see this red beneath my eyes?
The read lamp and the ornament littered on
Benedict’s table?
Or how it would feel to be as small as an ant,
To crawl on the mosquito netting,
By the cool night,
Or how my feet and toes itch,
Possibly because of the old parquet floor?
And how the music is playing in the background.
Can you hear me wishing time would cease now?
Oh, and how I dread work tomorrow,
How I wish to be dismissed.
How lonely I feel in familiar surroundings,
Can anyone save me from tomorrow?
Too much time is wasted,
In building for others,
Building in the ‘flesh’
But not in the mind.
Could August the 31st be the day?
Impending liberation, truth or
Fantasy?
19 July 2005
My Lord, Thou are the great silence,
Which noise wants to hide.
Frangipani Dreams
The silence,
Was visited upon a night,
When petals grew from the earth,
These blossomed ‘light’
That shineth, piercing the darkness.
On leaves of frangipani,
The One who watches over me,
He who unveils my soul.
That night He saw me,
Before I had a chance to turn around.
Petals on the road,
Beaming, radiating both misery and joy,
O mysterious wonder,
My Frangipani,
Who are you looking for?
Are you looking for me,
Why do you descend onto the
Heat and loneliness to be tramped upon?
White ghosts,
Awaiting me,
A petal can hold such tears and hopes,
But to keep them this way is utter despair,
They will die.
Oh night of the Frangipani,
That night He followed me,
Since maybe I have lacked,
In following His paths instead.
That night, the rains kept shouting,
Where are you, Where are you going to?
And I hid, I turned my gaze away,
Maybe the clouds, they are not watching?
Confused, tortured by reason and emotion,
A meeting, had I,
With that ‘strange’ person.
But now he is gone,
He is gone since I believe so.
Dews of water, they watched me,
On tips of leaves,
The rains, kept telling me,
And I feeling their wetness,
Only regarded them as such,
Nothing but sensation.
Who are you?
You who keep watching me, behind my back?
I know you are here,
You want me to write this don’t you?
You who awaiteth me on branches,
Branches of Frangipani.
You who gaze upon me through water,
You whose silence,
Reveals existence.
I can feel Thee,
I feel Thee on the tips of my fingers,
I hear your whispers from the scratching of my pencil,
On paper? On time? On my heart?
I hear you,
I know you,
But you know me more,
Oh mysterious darkness,
You are so bright that darkness,
Cannot contain you,
And yet, since you are dark indeed,
Many do not, look your way.
In what way?
In alley ways of hurt and deterioration,
In faces torn from years of neglect,
On whistling lips born from loneliness,
In clouds awaiting moisture to rain down,
In the unknown stares between hearts,
And not eyes…
The silence due to words is,
A prison for my soul,
But I know you are here,
Leave it here tonight,
I will see you tomorrow,
Learn to say goodbye.
14 July 2005
Anxiety is a failure of communication,
A lack of communication belittles empathy,
A lack of love…
Dwelling means, being able to dream,
And live unknown dwellings elsewhere,
While being thoroughly in the present, here and now.
1 July 2005
Goodbye,
And I mean to say hello…
Since love is but a continuous goodbye.
I will only have you, if you leave.
A blessing for me, this is…
If I have this in mind,
So when you do leave me,
As it shall always be,
I shall have none to lose.
Hence, I shall save no sorrow,
For tomorrow?
But this wish cannot thwart the truth.
So maybe,
Instead of taking you to my future,
I will show you my past,
Where nothing can be taken away?
Let us leap into what never took place,
A yesterday, freer than tomorrow,
And where we cannot recount our losses,
From theft or injury.
Come let us enjoy Kafka,
In his absence over Charles’ Bridge,
By the twilight, a sign of impending loss.
Come, follow me on the alleyways of Prague,
Where two strangers, as we still are,
Can meet without knowing each other.
I will be the crow, who watches over you,
On parapets which have seen centuries go by,
Or I could be…
(Abruptly ended on a train, when meeting someone)
30 June 2005
Somewhere? Somehow?
Someone is watching me,
Writing this, word for word.
Can I tell you?
How the world has turned,
Has turned on its axis.
And each breath,
Is life and death,
A running away and a return.
And can I tell you?
That just a look into my eye,
Caused such a huge explosion,
An atom of dreams exploded?
And how I was everywhere in one place.
In that one place,
Did you see me?
How two Z’s met.
And maybe liked each other so much…
That saying goodbye was as close as saying goodbye.
And how with only a slight turn on his face,
…the clouds were watching,
They were red, yellow and pink?
And as words collided in thin air,
Laughter and suspicions were born,
Suspicion versus suspicion,
But joy at least in the abyss of my heart.
But only now do I realize,
That I saw distant worlds in your eyes,
The sun turning,
The butterflies resting on a bed of gold?
The stink of pipes.
The crows scavenging the alleys of Bangsar,
And brick edges, where moss cling to.
I saw all of this in one second,
The second the train turned,
That second where she stopped,
This second, a second in my life,
A worthless, precious life!
29 June 2005
If you can tear it, where will it start?
From the beginning or the end?
In the end, will sorrow overtake you?
The worthlessness of it all…
27 June 2005
Someone watches, someone listens,
Someone speaks, but none…
None beckons…
5pm 26 June 2005
What a weird thing,
This blogspot,
A canvas,
Awaiting to be filled with?
Why this day of all days,
Maybe it’s the nonsensical pleading,
Of the adolescent kind,
Maybe I desire to be heard,
And maybe none will trespass this white canvas,
But how can they,
Since upon arrival,
Its innocence will be lost.
Dear Zhin, what should we write here?
Eavesdrop on Gavin,
He has much to say,
Oh and by the way….
…”and’…
Also featured here, a weird poem on Adelaide, some of you may understand
I am re-publishing it
Past the jail and into the night
My bus goes to hell just turn right
past the old man walking his dog
I shout to him where's your olde frog
swipe your card and thru the door
up the stair again what for?
past the photos of drunken flavour
alas the smell of urine odour
over the speakers a voice is heard
then sounds aloud the same voice bird
sitting in the corner not to be seen
Is it him her or the bin's not been cleaned
A square of light to the right
they gaze thru in despite
Silence reigns faces with no words
like a pigeon amoungst foreign birds
Written by Tim And Zhin when bored
In 2003
An evening of missing
The taste of absence,
Like honey losing sweetness,
Like clouds losing weight,
And memories losing its future.
Some things are not missing,
They just don’t exist,
And you’re missing them,
Are missing not people,
But yourself.
Today,
The news of a friend,
Brought time to an end by a millstone,
An anchor drowned through words,
Utterances that force time to cease,
That force time to cease,
And be irrupted by a memory
Speaking in the present.
Because this memory,
Is what I want to keep,
As memory.
Dear friend,
Sometimes I am not strong,
Not strong enough for you to be alive
In the present,
When I want you kept in the past.
4 years going on 5,
will the memory in the future
come, come sooner?
to replace the now of history.
Of course I miss it,
I miss it all; everything
But more and more I am missing,
Not you, but me.
But me.
Today the news of someone
9:30pm, Sunday 26 June 2005
An unknown date
But written during 1st quarter Depression
Now I know,
Missing ‘is’ for no reason,
No reason at all for me to accuse,
But my soul still floats in the sky
And my feet only touches ground where I need speak.
I know now I am not missed,
Although I am no beloved,
Could it be that their love is stronger?
Then again why the melancholy?
Is history not completing its circle.
They hate us!
I am sure of it…
And they want us to hate them too.
Saturated Shadows
I beseech you; shelter us as once you…
Did, when we let you.
For under they protection, we shall see
There is ‘life’ here and not invention!
You can either work for God or the Devil,
Even if all things remain the same only in appearance.
Never beg the skies to change so that your life will.
We use words to empty a troubled soul.
Every time of the day…
I still miss.
But now I am missing everything that shouldn’t be?
Now…
Why can’t small steps be taken???
Small acts of faith?
I mistrust each hope
And cast away my fears not?
For now, while my feet passes against the soil beneath.
All is still in transition,
Like birds flying always to the horizon.
Still, I accuse myself for hatred…
Hatred for this land and her newborns
I resent them for all reasons.
And I know they resent me too.
Perhaps it is my satisfaction.
Drops of light on pen and paper,
To make existence exist,
These are tools, and we shall not wither,
Or wither shall we, because of Thee?
And a thought or epic recovers,
Swallowed by the hunger of time,
In desperate moments we tease its wonder,
Shocked at all things always gone.
And rather than posess, we have not,
What is received can certainly be given away,
That is why it is better to give than to receive,
For receiving never guarantees possession.
Give then, or it will be given,
But if it is given from Thee on high,
Like water in your palm,
Save it not for surely it will leak,
Beyond your sight, but you knoweth it.
How can you say one is stealing from you?
Life is but a stolen dream!
But if you give freely,
You will receive because you count not the loss.
14 June 2005
After Pentecost, the world turned the right way!
I saw you in puddles of water,
In dreams of moss,
In the threads of fabric,
And the droplets of water on Seksan’s taps.
I saw (me in you)?
But alas… you missed it.
Remembering the night before,
I thought I knew you
At the back of my hand,
On brick edges.
And concrete floors.
I saw you on droplets on roots of Cissus.
How beautiful you are to me!
All past sorrow forgotten.
And I rush in obsession.
I will not have you.
Taken
Taken
Taken.
But tell me,
Could it be so hard,
For eyes to meet,
To see other worlds
In a half second?
Could you not save
Your eyes for me?
And see distant clouds
In pink and yellow
In merriment, the limitless sky…
I saw all these in a blink of an eye,
I saw these as the light touched your face,
In between the consonants and vowels of speech.
I saw you first!
How will this memory haunt me?
( ) we are crazy
but nothing shall come to pass,
this is our secret, which both of us would not ever,
ever know…
Wouldn’t the world be so beautiful,
If I could hide myself between these bricks,
And stare at you, hidden, in disguise.
You can never write about something.
Some things are not worth a stroke of a pencil,
Some places, are not worth a picture,
Some sounds are not worth repeating.
Not for want of goodness, any of these.
But missing, missing surely is a lack of love.
Missing is but a worrisome luxury,
A luxury that all can afford.
And so it was that I found myself
Each year or two,
Awake, wide awake,
In the midnight of real loneliness.
An in between time which refused to efface.
There and then it was,
When I had a sure filling of sorrow,
Each time, never a full flavour,
And like an addiction I awaited seconds…
My appetite for sorrow,
Sometimes beautiful sometimes sad.
For others, all but a manufactured operation,
For others an intention beyond apprehension.
Once again a circle is complete,
But maybe, just maybe?
This time a ‘smaller’ and youthful ‘object’,
But luck and providence saved ( ) from me,
And for me?
( ), my opposite or my equal?
But in ( ), both extremes are met…
And so I say!
Midnight 11 June 2005
I saw ripples of love on your face
19 May 2005
The people staring… in wonder and blindness,
Staring… an act of ignorance?
And ignorance not being an evil in itself.
Searching May 2005
Today, I saw you,
Not in the skies,
But lurking, hiding before my glances,
I want to tell you that I saw…
I saw you upon the heat of the road,
Evaporating… from the ‘showers’ so hidden.
From where?
I saw you on the wheels, in front of me,
But I saw you hiding,
I saw you in the cars passing by,
Although the drivers saw not.
I saw you on the water trickling on the
Heat of the road,
I saw your loneliness…
Your being trampled upon,
Your interests rolled upon.
I saw you spying at me from the rooftops.
I saw you gazing at me,
Envious? Or in admiration?
But what did you see and why.
Later I saw you, in the dull reflection
Of blue, blue in the skies,
On the tracks,
You were going somewhere and
For a while you had the skies…
A train runs over you and runs your peace.
This time, I did not see you in the skies,
Inasumuch as one the earth.
I saw you, but I saw you not,
I didn’t see you, you were not really there,
And I was not here nor there too…
Today… the news of someone…
Today… a new day but old
But old in the sense of darkness
In the sense of a hanging cloud,
Not above me…
This cloud is a millstone about my neck.
And today the news of someone,
Brought me closer to my misery,
And I do not know who I am farther from.
Now, there is no wrong or right,
Now, the deal is made and choice…
There is no choice.
The visions of my friends haunt me,
Are they from the past or otherwise,
Or otherwise maybe they have always,
And only lived in memory?
Today, I am at the beach again,
Waiting to be swallowed,
What is there left to wish?
I cannot change any of this.
A return is not possible,
But the saying is of no comfort.
Reveal yourself you wicked self.
Why did you bring us here?
All I can think of is ( )
In the jungle I can only think of ( )
In the night time only your ghost haunts me,
And even so, it is not you.
In truth I created you.
You whom my heart misses so sorely.
May the distant clouds and the fowls in the air,
May you see them, and think of me.
Think of me before I fade.
I will fade and fade, soon I will no longer know myself.
You are my only self.
Why did you not see me when I saw you.
I was there!
But you will never miss me.
My greatest fear… you will forget!
9 May 2005
A turn ahead,
The skies, they make way,
Something approaching,
But patience… it is not here yet.
Soon… they will come,
And joys once again.
There will be One to guide,
And one to follow.
This must be for you to lead.
A child you must be
To be comforted by the Ages,
For all is beyond reason…even sadness.
Time has cheated me… I want it back, I want it all back!
13 April 2005
The past never wants you in it.
…and…
peace makes home my loneliness.
Silence is not the absence of noise but the privacy of mind and soul.
…The clouds are watching… you are my only witness now…
you see what great hurt sorrow has caused me.
I wished that I you could have said I know.
John Paul II passes away
This day…
Yesterday the Holy Father passed away,
A time to recount losses?
And just when the time seemed ripe to
Forget and get over the melancholy,
She struck me down again.
Here am I left to ponder,
Again and again…
The many if’s
Have they not gone stale?
If… if… if I had,
If I had stayed,
Would I have stayed,
Stayed for long?
Regret was never my friend nor acquaintance.
Who asked for your friendship?
And what do I get in return?
And my Holy Father passes…
Serene is his countenance,
All things in equilibrium,
But alas for me a millstone…
Surely did I deserve this?
‘Tis time if I have reckoned all my friends as victims,
and me the sinner,
Did He not say better a millstone be tied to my neck
And be drowned in the sea.
Then to sway the faith of his little ones.
Now I ask you,
What are ‘my’ choices now
My punishment or my cross?
For the cross at least you can know the lighter end,
But a severe mistake there is surely no pardon.
I waste away everything,
Every tear and joy, if there is, enjoys the company of loneliness.
And I have not the slightest visions of triumph in my
Little imagination.
And whether it be a sore heart, a troubled memory,
I am sure of this, at least in my heart.
This road is the road not to be taken.
Foolish, foolish, foolish,
A gross mistake,
So silly it endeavours no reward.
What can I profit from this misery.
I must have been mad.
I must be…
The sign said nothing
And I entered…. I did!
Foolish!
A ridiculous proposition!
What idocy!
Can I compare this to anything I have done?
There is nothing worth noting, in gains or losses.
In losses I am its patron.
I wish I could cry a bout it,
At least an evidence of remorse,
But still, so unlikely that anything will change.
Before I can ask why God permitted me to be so stupid,
The answer evidently lies in my own poor judgement.
Dear person,
I am sorry that you have made the biggest mistake in life,
And how proud you were not to consult me,
The answer was NO and you knew it.
NO was the answer,
NO is the answer,
But what can you do now?
O utter fool!
Wallow in self pity
Mindlessnes has always been your domain,
Go ahead and acquaint with your melancholy fascinations.
In your silence, hear that there is also silence.
And all your friends do not even laugh!
Nor do they mock?
Since the only person that has been foolish,
Is you!
I accuse you for bring me into misery.
Who will believe your story now,
The clouds are watching?
For who?
Do you think it is you?
Who can help you?
For the world rejoices over you.
Not your failure but the sheer return.
All you can despair,
You will despair on your own
And the angels will just watch you.
For how long?
Do you even bother to ask?
The horizons are hazy,
No, not even the sun shines behind the clouds,
Al of it is positioned perfectly for your darkness.
The consolation of God,
Is absent,
Nobody will and must understand.
It is forbidden!
Help is not your medicine.
But darkness, darkness always.
Do you know the Son of Man felt all the more?
I will not promise you sunlight,
No one knows when or how, ‘tis not ours to judge.
But you, suffering is the truth
And stay here you must.
I offer you, no remorse, no chance to amend.
Suffer this you must.
The heavens desire it!