=Zeráfiel and Zilthé=

Zeráfiel, resplendent in argent robes,
Enters a tinted world of amber haze,
Roams fleetingly across fiery fuchsias,
Abandoning their wrath for azure grace.
Faithless and flightless upon ochre sands-
Iridescent wings of indigo flair
Entangle with mirages of lush lands-
Lost in lilac spirals of falling air.

Zilthé, hidden within fugilin folds,
Invisible, but for a moment, thirsts,
Longingly to glimpse the bright evenstars
Timelessly reveal themselves to witness
How perfectly Zeráfiel's argent robes
Endlessly match Zilthé's fugilin folds.

---The End. Tribute to Zerafiel---

=Zither=

Zither strings tremble
hauntingly as cold fingers
enfold and caress

nonchalantly, deft
yet hesitant notes flicker;
unaware of thee

Come through the shadows
yonder secrets lie between
plucked and silent strings

heartlessly dancing,
each note, recklessly screaming,
restlessly sighing...

wavering barely
echoing in pale lament
receding always
fading to finality.

=Words woken= [to the tune of Moon River]

Words woken, woken from a dream,
Forgotten in this brand new day.
Oh, world spinning, you dream stealing,
So bear them to my dear still sleeping away.

Dear dreamer half a world away,
Entrust your waking dream to me.
We're watching the same shooting star,
Wishing from afar,
Remembering how they are
Words woken in me.

=Why is it so bitter?=

Why is it so bitter?
Dark chocolate, coffee, and this liquor,
heartbreak, betrayal, and crushing defeat,
all taste so bitter the very first time.

You'll know when you grow up.
Bitterness is but a facade
for the expression of terroir
of the peoples in your heart.

Another sip and you'll find
this bitterness a familiar friend
down a winding path through the senses,
ever-present, unnoticed, but felt,
that we could never do without.

=What is it I seek...?=

What is it i seek in me?
My self, my soul, my destiny.
What is it i find in me?
Lost love, self hate, melancholy.

What is it i seek in thee?
Companionship and empathy.
What is it i find in thee?
Reflections of some part of me.

=What Do I Seek=

What do I seek
When I weave
Silken words
Into velvet lines
When I breathe
Vivid life
Into faery beasts
That dance across
Our feral minds
I never find
What I do seek

=wall=

everything i write
is as senseless as that wall
which looms over my back
and says not a word at all
i got so pissed at it
i turned around and spat
whatever words i vomitted
must have been quite bad
for the wall was so distraught
that it couldn t answer back

=Watching E=

E is the girl I've been watching,
if watch is the right word indeed.
Her life's quite unexciting,
I wonder why I take heed.

Before you all think I'm stalking
some pretty girl off the street,
I'll have you know I've been following
E since she was a kid.

When she was born, (I'm not kidding)
the world it seemed to be,
came so vast and so frightening,
she cried and I cried in harmony.

Parents, why do they bring
little E's into being?
Is it love or selfish instinct,
these children, they are creating?

E, they shaped and shaping
from sperm and egg to youngling.
Once she's done rebelling,
they resign themselves to watching.

Her life's quite exciting,
they should really take heed.
If she wasn't so smart at hiding,
they might be watching me instead.

Here's E asleep in bed-
pretty flower at night and blooming
all those dreams inside her head,
I steal away every morning.

Now E's awake at dawn-
trampled grass in rain and yawning
window to her world, I'm gone
with a flower picked and torn.

E, they're calling,
angels in white and scorn.
I watch my E crying
tears of red and dying.

Her name is E,
I take her in my arms
A shining light born
from compassion and suffering.

E, they're mourning,
twenty-three in black and Psalms.
Little Eleanor is crying
and I cry in memory.

My name is E,
23 and rising.
The world it seems to be,
vaguely watching over me.

=Virgins=

The shore recedes and tremors draw
in the tide on virgin sands.
Hesitant waves break and withdraw
virgin armies without plans.

Stark and stained, virgin dreams are born,
changeling child of sea and shore.
Soft suffused, virgin light of dawn
washes over them once more.

Sunlight chasing crests of waking
waves burn virgin white.
Sails a flaming! Masts a breaking!
Now fear the tremulous light.

Flee! A virgin shadow's rising.
Murderous is her embrace.
Neither shore nor children playing
can hold her wrath in place.

Stripped and flayed, virgin dreams are torn
and tossed across sea and shore.
Black and grey, virgin griefs are born,
washing over them once more.

The shore recedes and tremors draw
in a virgin fear on sands.
Repentant waves seek and withdraw
virgin wraiths from haunted lands.

=Violet Rhapsody=

hush
imagine a substanceless deep
violet washing over me
eyelids close and darken
to velvet rich and shadowed

Wait.
Into my eyes and light again-
liquid and pastel paradoxes
flame- lamps swaying
for deathly nightshades.

touch
awkward and bumpy and soft
blueberry suede on skin
and cherried tips between satin slips
tentative and withdrawn

sleep
let the night embrace
mauve eyelids and ivory face
mahogany lids and ebony wraiths
beyond his fraying gaze

=Vanilla Sky=

Tread softly under the vanilla sky,
Where lonely clouds drift overhead and I
Let life and death and love all pass me by.

How I'd love to be free and freely fly
Like in dreams- yet in reality, I
Tread softly under the vanilla sky.

Remember me fondly and do not cry
In sadness, perhaps, you'll understand why-
Let life and death and love all pass me by.

Though the years beyond may go swiftly by,
Wrapped in a cloak of false indifference, I'll
Tread softly under the vanilla sky.

Surely now that I've come thus far and high
Up among the clouds, I can rest awhile.
Let life and death and love all pass me by.

I look back upon my world with a sigh
Of finality, with a simple smile,
Tread softly across the vanilla sky,
For life and death and love have passed me by.

=Tribute=

For years you had no friends.
Your world was us, and us alone.
I never realized the sacrifices,
or perhaps I just ignored them.
Your world was us, but my world
was such a selfish one. Even so,
you forgive my selfishness over.
Your love is great as God.
May mine come closer now.

=To Eva=

You watch unaware
of the ashen raven
that sees as you see
and is one with the eyes
that you have.

You move unaware
of the faint, the echoing
beat of wings,
that within your raven streaks,
the dreams that I love

are in flight as you soar,
as you watch, as you fall,
as you sleep, for the ashen
raven never rests
in your ebony grave.

=to be jealous of a dream=

To be jealous of a dream,
a way, a time, a mood or a glance
is a most precious thing.

Think.
The voyeuristic beast within
seeks a puny bliss.
"What you want?"
says the mendicant geese,
not in the way you imagined.

JEalousy rolls and lulls you down
and down and down to the ground the ground
and snaps you up unnoticed.
Just like that.
Yoyos in a blink.
You couldn't even tell what or who,
or rather, which, you were jealous about.
Thanks...

Salicyclic acid is the key to
to be jealous of a dream
gophers sans töpfers rans delink here-
"Precisely," preaches the priests to peaches,
"that's why you must be sweet"

-16'"' please and pelases addel lee.
"if you wish to meet Mr. and missus Peach."
My atavistic jeashou please, look to me.
to be jealous of a marde
desept angoraphilocis

=Tinúviel=

O Nightingale, flown away,
Your songs but memories dim.
Hark! I hear sweet singing play,
Or is it but a dream?

O Nightingale, I wait no more
For soon I have to leave.
I'd love to hear you sing once more
To bear away my grief.

O Nightingale, when you return,
Don't weep to find me lost.
Just sing to all the songs you've learnt
As you wait for winter's frost.

O Nightingale, I come again,
My heart cold frozen ice.
Perhaps your song may ease my pain
Or it may not suffice.

For I've waited here each winter's day
Since the night you flew away.

=through the looking glass=

in this world where we strive
to be better or best
so too we dream
to be happy and blest

through the looking glass we see
ourselves as we are
but if you look closer and closer
until your lashes brush and
blink
across to the other side

where they be
without comparison or claim
to greater things or vainer fame
or happier days

in spring they live the same
as we do in spring; the same
days of cheerful or the same
days of pitiful-- all the same

when your lashes sweep against
the inexorable flow of glass
and your kiss fades into the air
they remain unchanged

in this world where they strive
to be better or best
so too they dream
to be happy and blest

=Thirteen Hours=

The clock at school
starts off early too.
Eight at the gate
means you're late.

The bell after class
is not so fast, alas.
When it chimes at twelve,
I'm already out for lunch.

The sun at noon,
the sun at one,
the shadows at two,
are they longer now?

The bus at three
departs never at three,
arrives late as always,
but still before four.

The train at four
arrives some minutes before
and departs a precise
four minutes after.

A girl I saw
boarding at my door
stopped time with a song
from five till four.

The stop at five,
North Haven Drive,
there she alights
and that is all.

The walk at six
as the evening wakes
sees the sun recede
into my reverie.

Dinner at seven,
neither hell nor heaven
tempts my appetite
when I say grace.

Chores at eight,
homework awaits,
fluorescent lights awash
on paper and plate.

TV at nine,
any channel's fine.
The remote is out
of batteries again.

Online at ten,
who's on MSN?
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme.
Time to blog.

The time at eleven
is binary for twelve.
It's midnight already,
too late to tell.

=They'll call you a Dreamer=

They call you a dreamer
when you tell them you dream
of flying and fading, among other things.
They laugh at you or frown
when you tell them you sleep
lots and more, because you like to dream.

Why behind locked doors and lights
left hanging on or already gone
they wonder where oompaloompas reside,
where they hide when the door unlocks
and disheveled hair greets them-
Hair that moments earlier were swept by wind
and reft by the oompaloompas you conjured-
you will know but cannot answer.

They'll call you a dreamer
because you treat your dreams
equal to the reality they prefer.
They'll frown at you and say
that dreams are not real
and do not last when you wake.

But you know and will not answer
that realities are not dreams
and they last while you sleep.
So you'll smile at them and think-
They'll call you a Dreamer.

=The Restaurant at the End of the Universe=

If you visit the restaurant at the end of the universe,
you will realize, without a doubt, where you must spend
the final moments of your mortal life.

At the restaurant at the end of the universe,
would you be able to dine while, around you,
the world collapses into utter chaos?

At the end of the universe, if you safely arrive, that is,
at our restaurant, you must wonder, how we can survive.
Rest assured that you are alive, and not, pulverized.

At the restaurant, we will serve a meal of our choice
from the other end of the universe. Do you prefer your meat
rare, medium or well done, and your wine, red or white?

At one end of the restaurant, you may view, if you desire,
the famous scenes of hellfire and damnation, universe style.
At the other end awaits, a tranquility of entropic desolation.

At the end of your meal, you must either leave or abide.
If your vehicle is no longer parked outside. Do not worry,
for you can stay at the hotel at the end of the universe.

=these days=

these days are dim and musty
lit by a single standing lamp
the corners full of cobwebs
and the slow denying fan
awaits a touch of silence

on a bed with blue sheets
a gray and lifeless puppet rests
propped up with blue pillows
something black upon its lap
casts a colorless and callous glow

these hours are night and sacred
filled with muffled mating cries
the fan whirrs and whirrs and whirrs
and the motionless puppet
opens its eyes

wrapped up in a white blanket
a limp and wooden stare
protrudes from the puppet
towards the denying fan
or beyond it

these minutes rise and snare
the puppet lifts its eyes
perhaps curious
about the light and scared
of the whirring whirring fan

the open book atop
is made for the blind
puppet who moves its fingers
clackety clackety clack
perhaps furious

these seconds slow and share
the light of the lamp thinning
the cobwebs in his hair
the sallow glow revealing
the tangled strings pulling
the puppet's imagination stirs
the blanket somewhat stifling
the air ceases moving
the fan no longer whirrs

=The Departed=

...

To those who sent me
on my way and to those
who sent me away, I ask
forgiveness and love.

To those whom I met
along the way and to those
who followed on my way, I bid
goodbye and farewell.

...

=That's just me=

What is life?
This question that I ask,
Why do we have to live?
But that's just me,
You don't have to be
asking this.

Well what of love?
You ask me with a smile,
Do we not have to love?
But that's just me,
You don't have to be
in love with me.



On the day that you were born
The angels got together
And decided to create a dream come true
So they sprinkled moon dust in your hair of gold
And starlight in your eyes of blue.

=tangled threads=

in a sense i write for a future you
for the past which dwells in our memories
rarely return to us completely true
in fleeting moments of our reveries
will you remember how our threads tangled
or how our poor tapestry fell apart
so quickly woven as was unravelled
before it could ravish my tender heart

the future conceals all our hopes and dreams
the present reveals as time passes by
the past records and replays all its scenes
for us to laugh and cry and smile and sigh
little drummer girl with a strand of white
remember the dragon who flew by night

=tangled aria=

Jenny why do you cry as we lay entwined
together in this languid July summer
on your unyielding floor unnoticed behind
rain raging through your open window ever
shadows starkly vanishing to slow thunder
now lightly splashes your lips with cold kisses
heavily tearing the veiled sky asunder
through that nether world of ghostly desires
unleashing blinding pain echoing pleasure
and chilling rain you'll barely feel as our tears
and fury exploding to climatic swirl

when the faithful waters keep
lapping bravely at the shores
will he summon then from deep
inside the very pieces
of silken obsidian shards
myriad worlds fraught with chaos
a breath of scattering hearts

=Stranger=

Oh stranger, do you know the way?
No, it seems I'm lost myself.
Then let me tread alone in cold dismay.
No, not by yourself.

Will you walk with me a little while?
Perhaps, until the coming bend.
Then let the road be straight for every mile.
Perhaps, until the very end.

What travellers we'll meet, by chance or more?
Some who are lost, like us.
What of those who have gone before?
The paths will change, like us.

Where shall we rest when the sun has set?
A roof of stars and a rustling bed.
How dark and scary the night must get?
The moon is bright. Be not afraid.

Will you walk with me when morning calls?
From dawn to dusk, my friend.
Must you depart when evening falls?
We will meet again, my friend.

Oh stranger, are you lost perhaps?
No stranger, but a long lost friend.
How many years have since elapsed?
Enough, for us to meet again.

=Stars=

I am but a distant star
dim and rarely seen
lost in a dazzling maze
on the clearest of nights
veiled by a broken haze
on smudged and clouded nights
like so many stars out there
we burn and burn undying
always seen but never noticed
strangers in a crowd
fallen raindrops
unrealized dreams
all vanish into obscurity
unless they meet
unless they hit
unless they pass
and so they pass but we remain
burning always burning
watching and waiting
for you to take us home

=Specters=

All my dreams are kept in a little book
tucked under my bed, where specters tread
so fearfully from the light of day.

Sometimes the light of a sun would flare
so blinding white into the darkness that is my room.
And the specters would swarm from beneath
to occupy those corners they so prefer.
Or if I blankly stare at the ceiling,
some might dare dart across my vision.

Often to tease one of the meeker ones
still quivering under my bed, I'll open
my little book and ask him to read to me.
And also really to see those wraiths above
writhe in rabid jealousy, as they clamor
for some strange and senseless dream.

Once I even asked one who caught my fancy
to interpret my dreams. She smile and said,
"If you dream of purple daffodils,
do not marry the girl you date.
Cross the red sand river wild,
and close friendship is at stake.
Gravity may fail to pin you down
so remember your family instead."

So playful these specters be at times,
so unfaithful at the next;
When they refuse to show themselves
or pretend to be dead,
perhaps as some private joke
among specters I am unaware of.

Specters come and specters go,
but my little book abides.
Perhaps within that book resides
an answer to the question
every specter has in mind.
Yet who will answer my questions,
if those answers do exist.

Who were they and why are they here?
Where do they come from and where do they go?

When I stare from my bed
at the dancing specters up ahead,
I close my eyes and wonder why
they always peek at what I write
in the little book where all my dreams are kept.

=Slip Out=

I don't know since when I changed into such a cold-hearted guy.
I have to warm this frozen icy lonely heart to thaw.
I like being wrapped with warmness more then anything else for sure.
I'm gonna make my coming days to be filled with laughter and joy

I let myself down that I'm more cruel than I thought I would be.
I'm just a loser who ends up by caring for my soul.
I don't give my heart to no one cause I don't wanna waste my time.
I tried to love this loneliness to slip out of this lonesome hole.

Sorrow is what I hate but it's grown to my sensations.
Regrets taught me how to make any hard decisions.
Peace is always by my side but I've never felt it once.
Love is not the word only for the sweet romance.

Well I'm scared, scared, scared, scared to death.
And I'm scared to keep going on my way.
Well I'm scared, scared, scared, scared to death.
And I'll tell myself I'm special till the end.

Recalling my torn broken, aching heart of these long days.
And all the memories I wanted to forget for making leaps.
Recalling, breaking, aching, crying, making sure to me.
And I take it all and grin at my future on the way.

=Shadows=

Lift your eyes and see on this lonely night,
Shimmering stars scattered across the skies
Cast but pale shadows on this moonless night
Against the brilliance of your lovely eyes.
Let the winds whisper on this silent night,
Music to mystify and mesmerize,
Time, who weaves a way on this endless night,
Wanders lost in our dreams of paradise.

Yet dreams must fade as pale Dawn's morning light
Enfolds us softly in her sweet embrace,
Like the fragile dewdrops of crystal light
Must disappear in bright Sun's rising face.
But where darkness flees from unearthly light,
Shadows will remain to await the night.

=Sever=

Poet, do not around a single word
your poem build and sever!
Forcefully or gracefully, but never
wield your pen like a sword.

Thrust deep into the hearts of men,
deeper still into their souls.
Sever their doubting minds and send
slow asphyxiating throes.

Wretched now your poem seems,
how that word must jar and bring
reminder of theirs and stolen dreams
of an edgeless severing.

=Secrets=

Secrets are
"For your eyes only."
chopped in red on a beige
manila folder like a fresh graze.

Open it carefully lest they
unbind and scatter where other
eyes may fall upon by chance
or more-

Never read aloud or even
under your breath what lies
under the beige cover stamped in red.
Take off your glasses even,
for they will reflect your gaze.

Now you are bound to the secret,
but only loosely, like a pet
you can still abandon at will.
But the secret is bound to you,
completely dependent until
death or time decay.

So never ask and never open
folders stamped in red,
dressed in innocuous beige.
Yes, never kiss those lips,
for beneath the tongue is poison.

=Sandcastles=

Children, when they naively build
sandcastles by the beach,
do they know why they are building
or have their parents thrust them to it?

Children, are we born knowing
how to build sandcastles innately?
With a red bucket, a blue scoop,
and a green sea to cement our dreams,
what castles shall we make?

Children, let us begin with passing
sand from beach to scoop to bucket, repeat.
Now we are full of life's finest bits.
Carefully now, watch me carefully.
Here is what parents teach-
in a blink.
Flip
and breathe.
Your first Red Inverted Bucket Tower complete.
Lift
quickly and be disappointed
as your tower crumbles from within.
Repeat- but
wait expectantly.
Watch that bucket handle peeking from sand.
Lift slowly
and be disappointed again
as sand creep out from the edge,
and insurmountable scree.

Maybe daddy will teach
how wet sand sticks together,
cooperative little party curls.
Now you have it.
Your first sand tower courtesy
of daddy and the friendly sea.

Sand towers multiply like party curls.
No need for daddy, we can make
towers aplenty with the friendly sea.
until we learn that the sea
is not so friendly as waves
eat away our naked towers from beneath.

Children, we might learn
from storybooks that mommy read
to us before we pretend to sleep,
that castles have motes to keep
waves from soldiering in.
So we begin to dig a moat around
where our castle is meant to be.
Do not be too hypnotized by the water
rushing in and out, around and away,
seeping into sand and lazy sea.
No, do not be too hypnotized,
we have our castles to build.

Children, look how pretty
our sandcastles are on the beach,
Safe from betraying waves and ringed
by tamed waters from the sea.
Come, let's stake our claim
with twig and seaweed flags atop
the sandcastles of our dreams.
Those pretty seashells we bought from the sea,
now bring them out of our red buckets.
Our castles shall not be
naked like Adam and Eve.

But nobody told us of tides
and so we have learn ourselves.
When our parents begin to leave the beach,
so too the tide crawls in,
inexorably, smothering
those sandcastles we must sacrifice
to the none too friendly sea.

=shatteredreams=

and all before lay his dreams
but as leaves in the wind
ever-shifting, never resting
fallen, falling, flailing, failing..

what matters if they surpass
from whence they fell
borne by the breath of dreams
far above trees and land
it matters not

if they are lies
Oh, how perfect they must be
to bring the momentary joy of unexpected delight
to capture the beauty of falling cherry blossoms
for me

if reality is what i believe
i could fall forever...
trapped between two parallel mirrors
i would break one in an instant
shattering infinite dreams
scattering infinite mes

drifting rapidly away
into the infinity of space
let me remain with my singular reflection
for a moment, just a moment more and
only my reflections
will remain
with you

in shattered dreams

:The Shape of my Heart:

Imagine a cone
with a base almost circular,
(slightly elliptic or irregular
are both acceptable)
where the angle the apex
overlooks the ground
is almost golden, but not
the same all around.

Now step back
and with a mental scythe
decapitate the cone,
aiming low and angling so
you enter and exit
both gently and acutely,
nearly to the ground.

Come now
and proceed to gouge out
as much mass as you can from within
with an overgrown ice cream scoop but leave
the top edges (which should be irregular elliptic)

mostly untouched;
so dig well until you see
something resembling a caldera
from afar but with gentler inner slopes.

Go fetch the largest
sledgehammer available
and come back at once.

Now smash where
the edge is closest
to the ground.

Shrink yourself
and enter if you please,
where you violated my heart.

Surrounding you
the walls invite you to climb
(but they're near impossible)
so you must leave where you entered
when you are bored with that inner bareness.

So now that you know
the (quite imprecise) shape of my heart,
I do hope you realize
the true shape of my heart is such
that you're always without.

=New Year= Happy Birthday!

So Earth has spun another
round around the Sun.
We take a look behind and spin
to look ahead as well.
If only our vision followed
the curve of a orbit.
The Milky Way when the lights
of Earth are dimmed in awe
promises-

But we Earthlings dazzle ourselves
with hanging balls and sparkling flares.
Clouds need not hide the stars from us.
Aliens ignore our friendly cheer.
Even the distant galaxies that spy
through our telescopes in space
at us, blink as not to blind
themselves.

Comet, asteroids, meteoroids and particles
enter the junkyard of our consciousness
on the opposite side of the sun,
half a year away,
what light will reach us from that future
informing us of a star's spectacular death
decided millions of years ago.

Suspended through space if only
light would curl around and spare
me their fate at least
the Moon still keeps her faith
in this new year.

=You and I=

I drew a sharp and senseless me
From deep within my dream;
Colored it mad and melancholy
So lively yet lifeless it seemed.
I fleshed him out unfailingly
Each night if sleep surrendered
To me her lonely lucidity,
So elusive when I entered,
I felt an all-pervading force
Claiming me for creation,
To wield my will at its source-
Inchoate inspiration.

Small wonder then that you wrought
This fragile, flailing being;
Tormented by your endless thought-
From a merciless mirror fleeing
Till I tired and despaired
Of screaming and the silence
You cruelly kept and never cared
To explain my whole existence.
You have made me thus, I hate you so.
Your pitiful joy and sorrow
Are henceforth mine, and mine alone. Oh,
You shall not wake tomorrow!

=Rüya=

Rüya, will you come once again tonight
Under the guise of what imagined girl?
To bear gifts of woe and confused delight,
Heal rifts of thought and subconscious swirl
'softly, sweetly, yet strangely so' I fall,
Slip away, away into Rüya's world...

Dream truly now for you'll never know or
Remember these moments so lovely, lost;
Each breath, each touch- unheard, unfelt, all-
All melt away, away... but summer frost;
Memory of cold and tears lingering
Caught, but pale reflections of Rüya lost...
A smile, a laugh- oh, what happiness running
Through the insubstantial crowd unnoticed,
Clasped fingers unknowing- breathless parting,
Heart throbbing with freshness of love unkissed!
Each night I wait for some dream to complete
Rüya's kiss...

=Autumn Leaves=

Rustle do the autumn leaves as they fall
Unhurriedly drifting in the faint breeze
Trembling thoughts coalesce in a plaintive call
Heard amidst the sharp silence of the trees.
Young were we once lush with verdant splendor.
Old are we now pale as the setting sun.
Nothing remains but our sense of wonder
Gently ebbing as leaves fall one by one.

Hundreds fall to rejoin the sea of leaves
Under the spell of the winds enchantment
In a last dance rustling with memories,
Each distinct, yet all a blur of movement.
Rustle do the autumn leaves as they sweep
Neath the faint shadow of eternal sleep.

=runninga=

i'm sorry that i didn't jump or scream when i saw you
didn't hug or cry or kiss you
but if you felt my heart jump at your very sight
and how my blood rushed through my veins
when i saw you walk towards me
you would know you would know




sigh.


forget it.








how much i love you.

=wall=

everything i write
is as senseless as that wall
which looms over my back
and says not a word at all
i got so pissed at it
i turned around and spat
whatever words i vomitted
must have been quite bad
for the wall was so distraught
that it couldn t answer back

=refrain=

do you know what you are doing?
do you know what you have done?
you are running away.
you have broken your...

think of me,
think of me fondly
when we say goodbye.
now nothing seems
so strange as this
world, only remember...

let not thy eyes see
sin, but through thy tears.
for i could never know
love, but through...

shall i tell you a secret?
the secret of this piece.
broken where it matters,
unimportant as i...

promise me if you unravel.
tell me if i have ever
seemed so strangely severed/
forgotten you....

forget-me-nots and gentians
do they go well together?
And we are here as on a darkling plain
In the awakening light, can you see?
how poetic and plain, sweet and silent,
faith and fear and fire and...

this is me.
that is mine.
who am i?
where is...

For now we see through a glass, darkly;
but then face to face: now I know in part;
but then shall I know even as also I am known.
And now abideth faith, hope, love, these three;
but the greatest of these is...

How often I sit, poring o'er
My strange distorted youth,
Seeking in vain, in all my store,
One feeling based in t...

25/03/10

Key word of the day: restrain
key question of the day: does absolute reality exist?
key number of the day: 8
key letter of the day: I
key job of the day: slack
key worry of the day: I
Key concern of the day: can blogging online ever be safe? if i lock my blog, whats the use of having a blog? if i leave it open, i would not want to end up like ris low etc. =x

=Reader=

You stumble into this dream
hoping perhaps to find
some yummy breakfast piece
or something about me.
But what you get instead
is me trying to catch
you the reader reading
unexpectedly.
Sometimes you are ensnared
by a net of words just waiting.
Most often just a phrase
dangles like a worm squirming.
Your attention of a fish
wavers when there is nothing.
So you leave and perhaps tomorrow,
or other hooks are more inviting.
No matter.
Have you read
The Old Man and the Sea?
Return to the sea,
Reader lured in by whose empty
promises of things.
Raise a gentle swell
in your wake of passing,
Rocking me to sleep
in my floating cradle of
life, what is but a dream.
Some dreams which do not
return, come back to me in
life, more strongly in reality
which they so cherish.
Others, let them keep
sailing far beyond
my wingless little boat,
flying high above
clouds of obscurity.
So let me sleep
and do not wake me
until the edge
of my world is coming.

=Rain Requiem=

When I step out
Who will follow
Who will remain
For what reason
I will not know

Where dark clouds gather
A downpour begins
From a light drizzle
To a heavy deluge
Of people and rain

Wet on my face
These rain-mixed tears
No one can see
Of joy or sadness
I cannot tell

When the rain goes
Who will follow
Who will remain
For what reason
Now I will know

=Promise=

We have
a promise that I mean to keep.
Perhaps you have forgotten,
but I have not.
Perhaps you thought I did not mean it,
but I did.
Something conspires to keep
me from fulfilling this promise.
I've held now for awhile,
and will hold you
to my word and yours,
when next we meet.
But meeting, it seems so unlikely,
that I'll avoid it.
Not to avoid keeping that promise,
but perhaps to hold
that wayward promise in hopeful stasis
until the day there will be
no need for promises between us to keep.
Yes, just that one promise
I can still embrace and claim
from you in distant graves.

=Prequisite=

You asked me to write a poem about you?
It is like asking me to fall in love with you.
And I have no choice but to agree.

But I see.
It is not as simple as it seems.
I have trouble writing.
where should I begin
how should it be
i need to know you more
and more and more
at least something
of the poem for the poem is selfish
very selfish indeed

They say love is irrational.
They also say love at first sight
does not exist.
Poetry is the same.
What we write could be entirely irrational,
inspirational, or simply dexist.
Prose is like friendship.
Then this must be infatuation.

So I learn that some-things cannot be asked for;
Poetry, love and jealousies.
Now where shall I begin...

=Porcelain=

A sky for your world, I would paint
those intimate spaces between clouds,
cobalt strokes beneath the glaze
of a fresh-made bowl of porcelain.

With a finger, I would trace
round that curved lip and graze,
let blood seep and seal and stain
cracks on this fragile porcelain.

From the fires, I would raise
these milky depths into the light,
sift the sunbeams which still refract
and burn amidst creative flame.

Before they mellow, I would send
these pale shards into the stars,
between vast spaces may they learn
to glow with enduring smiles.

A scent of fields, I would weave
a hint of grass into this cusp,
when filled with summer rain,
a familiar blanket for the flowers.

A liminal hue, I would find
within an aqueous paint or dye,
through the corner of my eye,
perhaps a leaf, perhaps the sky.

Under this painted sky, I would fill
those unbreakable dreams of porcelain
with spring and willow gentians,
a defiant dance of flattened fifths.

In the slimmest arc, I would hide
those confessions and doubts,
indistinguishable shade which spills
from this porcelain redoubt.

Come the night, I would breathe
those aletheian desires into this shell,
on the shores of some universe,
may those echoes still resound.

But once for me, I would live
as a raindrop caught within
that fleeting rainbow's gaze
on this piece of porcelain.

=Portrait of a Stranger=

In a dream I was an artist,
alone on a bustling street.
My notebook and fine pencil
share a shaded cafe seat.

The crowd flowed past my eyes;
Strangers in the deep,
faces in a wan, familiar
and unrecognizable indeed.

I pulled a random name
from a strand of wayward hair,
cast a line into the midst
of that strange and bright abyss.

I reeled in a flower red,
not a rose but what they call,
Dahlia, oh how you bled
onto my pages in charcoal.

Now a Stranger glimpsed the red,
caught my eye and simply said
something I can't remember,
but my notebook fell and fled.

With surprising speed or spell,
my notebook she caught and strained.
But the Dahlia slipped away,
borne by a breeze of change.

Even Strangers need to rest
so I offered the shaded seat
and my company in thanks,
or was it company I seek?

Stranger from the North,
Do you know the Dahlia was named
after a scientist of your race?
Come tell me now, of your faraway place.

In return, let me draw
a portrait of you, Stranger.
One you may bear forgotten
unto the end of days.

So I began to sketch
as she told me of her world,
the cold and beautiful North
seeped through my trembling page.

When my sketch was done,
I wondered if perhaps I'd drawn
her Nordic twin instead.
Let the Stranger judge I say.

The line of my mouth is stray.
Why do I seem much older in grey?
But her clinical eye still missed
the error I made so fey.

Perhaps it was a test.
Her fringing lock of hair
fell across the opposite way,
as would seem to her in a mirror.

Did I ask her name?
No, strangers we remain.
Will I draw her face again?
Only if it's not the same.

Then she flowed into the crowd,
Stranger once again.
My pencil poured in vain,
white memory onto page.

No matter now, the shade
closes my book and waits,
for the cloud of Strangers
drifts patiently ahead.

Thus I fall asleep from this dream,
into another I awake.
My notebook and fine pencil
are filled with words instead.

Oh, let me sleep again!
Stranger from the North,
come by again and share
this shade and empty page.

That dream would not return,
a Dahlia blown away.
No waking friend or lover
will ever take your page.

In other dreams they wait,
Strangers from what places,
for my notebook and fine pencil
to name them by their faces.

Names I never remember
to ask for in those dreams,
rushing away, those gentle waves
breaking sand against my feet.

A burnt twig in my fingers,
the open shore accepts
my stolen sunset shadow,
sacrifice to sea and sand.

What would you sacrifice,
Stranger, to my heart?
Your Daemon, would I take
as my own flesh and blood?

Let me have instead,
a portrait of you, Stranger.
So that one day I may draw
you- a Stranger no more.

=Poison=

I realized, just the other day,
that a specter haunts me yet.
It is a subtle pull, and dangerous,
like arsenic in schokolade.

My heart has recovered, but my mind
remains a gordian knot to be severed.
Passing by unnoticed, untamed,
like curare in a milkshake.

Who am I to judge
the specter in the Bible?
She is the end of truth
like cyanide in a dream.

I fear her, I crave her, I dream her, I love her,
sometimes, a little, strangely, and bitter,
but always tender, fragile as I am,
like hemlock in a breeze.

How silly is the sun
to keep rising from the east.
How dreadful are the stars
to burn so awkwardly.
I shall shun the light of days.
I shall quench the fires in gray.

Hush now, and listen
to the tinkling at your wrist,
before it falls to the ground
and rolls away, and away
till it someday finds a way back to me.

Let your fingers dance in vain,
when I no longer hear that bell,
but may you reach into the hearts
of those who care and give
a smile and passing kiss,
like poison to my lips.

=Picturing you=

I am trying to picture you.
But I fail-
those scraps of memory of your image eludes me.
Perhaps I should spend some time
blindly memorizing what you look like,
the next time I see you;
burn those images of you onto my retina.
For what would I do if I lost
that one last photograph of you?
The pictures of you in my mind
are vanishing... somewhere, someday,
I should trace these lines again,
picturing you.

=Peoples Redux=

Peoples, I speak
of those who compel
and repel by their mere being
themselves to me.

They are those who
by night, keep me awake
with the mere thought
of their existence,
themselves and mine,
wandering so parallel
and anti-parallel in all
my crookedness of schemes,
their plainness of designs
meant to seduce and educe
arousal and revulsion in harmony of
themselves to me.

They are those whom
I darily wish by night
or dream I could compel
and repel like magnetic monopoles
themselves to me.

They are those who
shine so brightly at times,
a beacon to the blind
infatuous lustious loves
searing my eyes alive,
themselves and mine,
escaping unpetrified
from the mirrors of Medusa's
snaking locks redux,
only to freeze by empithy
reflecting off apotropaic minds
themselves to me.

Peoples, I speak
of you who compel
and repel by your mere being.
Let these words be what we cannot be,
yourself to me.

=Peoples=

Peoples, I speak
of those who compel
and repel by their mere being;
like ashes on the sidewalk
cunningly avoided or cursed
by trampling feet and heavy breaths
of a late morning demon wind.

Disgust hides in the viscid mucus,
behind salivating smiles and grim
lips mistaken as sneers and distaste
by the hypersensitive Peoples,
whose whites embellished reflect
their contrasting scorn
so efficiently, and sacrilegiously.

As if that were insufficient,
the hands of the Peoples slap
across the face of streets, begging
thinner limbs and spare eyes,
but never new scrubbed hands,
for those are easily replaced
by grubby tins, or cardboard prints.

Their gods are tucked away
behind 'oh mys' and dollar bills.
Their sidewalk priest's whoever tithes,
and their subway deacon blesses their sleep.
The gods of the Peoples, though fickle,
never betray their trust or punish
their sins, when worshiped daily.

Peoples, they speak
of those who compel,
and repel by their own doing;
prisoners on the sidewalk
cowardly escaping or hiding
from shadows and scrutiny cast
by mirrored windows on the streets.

=Pencil and Colour=

Just a pencil in gray
charcoal on paper sketching
how it was that day
in love with the way
your hands on the table dancing
while mine were smudged in grey

Everything that looks so good from here
drawing from a memory held so dear
drawing from a memory

Strange, this colorless hue
there's something that's missing
and I'm asking me and you
what can we do
we can sit in a circle
filling the spaces with colourful hues

So everything looks so good from here
colouring a memory held so dear
colouring a memory

I was sure I went to heaven
but the feeling didn't last
this portrait of affection's
but a picture of the past
I'd draw again this scene for you
but the colors fade so fast
I'll have nothing left to draw for you
but the futures I've cast

Each colour that you filled resembles a path
from the tenderness of blues to the reds of wrath
no matter where you go they'll follow you
follow you, follow you

=Pencil=

Remember the day you forgot to bring
your pencilcase, the small, soft, velvety one
Yoü loved so much. You asked me,
in your silky voice, for a pencil, for a day;
Your fingers deftly reached, before I even moved,
for my faded pencilcase, rummaging for-
And you chose- my favourite pencil.

"Thanks!" you smiled, twirling triumphantly,
between your graceful fingers, your flailing
Hair across my desk and my silent pencil;
and I wondered how you could do that all
An entire day, I watched you sitting beside me
from afar, heard my pencil scratching away
Near my arms, grasped comfortably by your
conscientious hand lost amidst your art-
Kid-like doodles and complicated sketches-
your compulsive handwriting, your compellingly
Serious expression and the shadows in your hair.

My heart could not bear, when the day was ending,
to part with my favourite pencil, or to separate
You from it. I dare not ask and feigned
forgetfulness, but you did not forget,
Lazily reaching for my pencilcase, for a moment
you looked at me for a while, pencil poised
Over the opening, fingers frantically tangled
with your silken hair, and asked me,
Very softly, so very softly, with your eyes,
if you could keep the pencil, but you did not,
Expertly twirling it away into my faded memory.

=Pen=

today i lost my fountain pen
tonight so sad i'll be
yesterday i wrote with my blue pen
tomorrow so sad i'll be

once i lost my mechanical pencil
then so sad i was
soon i got a new grey pencil
still so sad i was

past i lost a pencil dear
present i lose a pen so loved
future sees me a new pencil twirl
time beyond pen and pencil ever loved

=Past=Present=Future=

=Past=
Streams of fugilin emptiness
Marred by stereaks of argent haze
Recede swiftly into infinity
As distant memories
Converge to a
Singular
Past

=Present=
I stand upon the gift of Time
Exist only to destroy my self
Dissolve only to create anew
What I am
I am
Now

=Future=
Who am I in futures past
Where Death i slay and Tim outlast
What thoughts remain and memories lost
When darkness seems like bitter frost.
Why am I beyond the mist
Which shrouds all yet to exist
Will I ever complete my quest
Waiting for eternal rest.

=pashmina=

Perhaps I lay in some corner, forgotten
for so long, how long, lonelier than long;
so far away it seems, since I first met you.

Do you still remember me, a gift
from a friend who was touched
by your pure sincerity and warmth.

Perhaps you were as I, delighted
like your friend who was cheered
by your sweet vivacity and joy.

Did you then pause, curious
about the script so painstaking etched
upon me, whose secrets would not so easily reveal.

Perhaps now as you gaze unbidden
at these unfamiliar spirals swirling
memories coalesce of some broken past

Yet to be found, where meaning loses itself
amidst dark warmth and friendship mends
with time into wordless understanding.

Perhaps a wayward tear may fall, darkening
stain upon these fading curves, or a smile
may light your face, fleeting trace of beauty.

Yet it is enough that I may see the light
once more enfold you in my warm embrace
as you lift me away from this lonely place.

Perhaps now I lay across you, forgotten
for your world lies ahead, a path so long;
while my soul rests ever, in peace so far away.

=Painters=

Would you paint a picture of me,
whom you will never meet
but have read my words
and will hear my voice tell
and see my fate before you
in some obscure relic of my future?

Perhaps you might not understand
like the people of our times
did not either.
Maybe they do and maybe they did
but for now it only matters
that you do.

For I wish to commission this painting
from you, painter of your time.
Paint me as you will
and those around me if you will.
And while you paint me I will
tell you a story of myself
and of those like myself.

Paint them as you hear
my voice, my words, my world.
Your brush must never waver
even if I do you must remember
who we were.

And when my tale is over,
Paint in yourself
in that corner of the mirror
where what was unpainted
is reflected for you
must be within this painting.

Of my archaic letter,
I would have you write
another in your own time.

Of my voice and voices,
I would have you find
a new home to share with thee.

Of this painting of ours,
I would have you bind
your words and voice and fate
in some unknown relic of my future.

=Once More=

Because of this god-forsaken poem, i cried.
Perhaps none of you will ever understand.
Perhaps only one will ever understand
Besides me, never to come beside once more.

For this poem i shed some tears;
What a waste? Oh, what a desolate waste!
I shall remember it, if only to forget it
Everyday of my future existence
Until i see them beside- once more.

Let not tears fall once more,
But a smile to light my years.

Oh, the Places You’ll Go!

Congratulations!
Today is your day.
You’re off to Great Places!
You’re off and away!
You have brains in your head.
You have feet in your shoes
You can steer yourself
any direction you choose.
You’re on your own. And you know what you know.
And YOU are the guy who’ll decide where to go.
You’ll look up and down streets. Look ‘em over with care.
About some you will say, “I don’t choose to go there.”
With your head full of brains and your shoes full of feet,
you’re too smart to go down any not-so-good street.
And you may not find any
you’ll want to go down.
In that case, of course,
you’ll head straight out of town.
It’s opener there
in the wide open air.
Out there things can happen
and frequently do
to people as brainy
and footsy as you.
And when things start to happen,
don’t worry. Don’t stew.
Just go right along.
You’ll start happening too.
OH!
THE PLACES YOU’LL GO!
You’ll be on your way up!
You’ll be seeing great sights!
You’ll join the high fliers
who soar to high heights.
You won’t lag behind, because you’ll have the speed.
You’ll pass the whole gang and you’ll soon take the lead.
Wherever you fly, you’ll be the best of the best.
Wherever you go, you will top all the rest.
Except when you don’t
Because, sometimes, you won’t.
I’m sorry to say so
but, sadly, it’s true
and hang-ups
can happen to you.
You can get all hung up
in a prickle-ly perch.
And your gang will fly on.
You’ll be left in a Lurch.
You’ll come down from the Lurch
with an unpleasant bump.
And the chances are, then,
that you’ll be in a Slump.
And when you’re in a Slump,
you’re not in for much fun.
Un-slumping yourself
is not easily done.
You will come to a place where the streets are not marked.
Some windows are lighted. But mostly they’re darked.
A place you could sprain both you elbow and chin!
Do you dare to stay out? Do you dare to go in?
How much can you lose? How much can you win?
And IF you go in, should you turn left or right…
or right-and-three-quarters? Or, maybe, not quite?
Or go around back and sneak in from behind?
Simple it’s not, I’m afraid you will find,
for a mind-maker-upper to make up his mind.
You can get so confused
that you’ll start in to race
down long wiggled roads at a break-necking pace
and grind on for miles across weirdish wild space,
headed, I fear, toward a most useless place.
The Waiting Place…
…for people just waiting.
Waiting for a train to go
or a bus to come, or a plane to go
or the mail to come, or the rain to go
or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow
or waiting around for a Yes or a No
or waiting for their hair to grow.
Everyone is just waiting.
Waiting for the fish to bite
or waiting for wind to fly a kite
or waiting around for Friday night
or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake
or a pot to boil, or a Better Break
or a sting of pearls, or a pair of pants
or a wig with curls, or Another Chance.
Everyone is just waiting.
NO!
That’s not for you!
Somehow you’ll escape
all that waiting and staying.
You’ll find the bright places
where Boom Bands are playing.
With banner flip-flapping,
once more you’ll ride high!
Ready for anything under the sky.
Ready because you’re that kind of a guy!
Oh, the places you’ll go! There is fun to be done!
There are points to be scored. There are games to be won.
And the magical things you can do with that ball
will make you the winning-est winner of all.
Fame! You’ll be famous as famous can be,
with the whole wide world watching you win on TV.
Except when they don’t.
Because, sometimes, they won’t.
I’m afraid that some times
you’ll play lonely games too.
Games you can’t win
’cause you’ll play against you.
All Alone!
Whether you like it or not,
Alone will be something
you’ll be quite a lot.
And when you’re alone, there’s a very good chance
you’ll meet things that scare you right out of your pants.
There are some, down the road between hither and yon,
that can scare you so much you won’t want to go on.
But on you will go
though the weather be foul
On you will go
though your enemies prowl
On you will go
though the Hakken-Kraks howl
Onward up many
a frightening creek,
though your arms may get sore
and your sneakers may leak.
On and on you will hike
and I know you’ll hike far
and face up to your problems
whatever they are.
You’ll get mixed up, of course,
as you already know.
You’ll get mixed up

:ode to a pl girl:

for some reason when the night deepens
and half the world is asleep around you
the mind uncoils itself far and deep
into deep pathways of memory to retrieve
an old series of happenings
a collage of images burned within..

it begins with a girl in a pinafore
a pl one to be precise amidst many others
one that stood out and spoke to me
a voice which resonated with some latent part of me
and so it was a picture of a crowd
a picture of a girl among the crowd

a photograph on the bench i almost took
a girl in pl dress coming down from the stairs
three words and a dangerous smile
a picture of amelie's grin

next is the sound of a missing bell
an almost imperceptible flick of the wrist
followed by the sweet tinkling only imagined
two pl girls side by side and laugh
a picture of smiles and a missing bell

from afar high up under a cusp
stands a pl girl looking lost and far
going close i notice it is not her who is lost
but i who eyes have looked too close
the focus is lost and places exchanged
a picture from afar and the lost photographer

a medusa's eyes turns me into rigid stone
a gaze of forcing recognition held
until the spell is weakly broken with a wave
a nod and a restoring smile
as she boards the bus to infinity

how impossible to recognize the pl dress
from the approaching crowd
petrifies me to stone holding
a locked look of false unrecognition
returned by a gaze of forced recognition
a picture of deep infatuation

=no one told me what to do=

no one told me what to do
so i did it myself only to
find everyone mad at
me who went around
searching for someone
desperate for anyone
who could tell me what to do
and discovered instead
my self

=Nightingale Flown Away=

O Nightingale, will you sing me a song?
When the sun's rising from the seas ablaze
With streaks of orange and fuchsia among
The shimmering waters and rippling waves.

O Nightingale, will we sing together?
When the sun's shining on the lands below
With soft golden rays of warmth which gather
To light our paths and keep our hearts aglow.

O Nightingale, will you remember me?
When the sun is setting the skies aflame
With the pale light of its final glory,
I cry out again my beloved's name;

"Tinúviel! Nightingale flown away.
Lúthien vanimelda, namárië."

=Night in gale=

Quiet has the forest been
And silent too the night
The wind passes through inhibitedly
Like leaves that do not wake with light

Long has the Dark plagued
the spring which bubbled once
Longer still has discontent grew
festering in the shadow's gloom

twinkles faded from wrinkled eyes
weariness eased the smiles
Happiness left for better lands
Darkness toiled the harrowed ground

where once the nightingale sang
the song plays no more
where once wove chapters of magical tales
the wand waves no more

oh nightingale of my lustrous friend
why have you left his side
how would the tales then travel hence
if the night no more holds your songs

before the same plague conquers me
let me search for your graceful wings
to save from the ashes my fallen friend
whose heart must burn with thee

yet the hour grows dark as Death's gate tolls
mocking Spring's half desperate growth
but perhaps new roots can break the frost
if the seeds can flee the snow

I rouse the chilly flames of life
with my frosted breath on ice
rolling dice that the fires of hope
might resurrect the Fallen's soul

The last days of ending Hope
might see the Sun go down
but yet still must we close our eyes at dusk
giving up the rays of truth for blinded hope

Nightingale if you bring your light
show him where his path should lie
lead with song and fluttering wings
the verse that sings the rhyme

Lead him lost if else to me
tarry not his stumbling toes
swift wings fear not jagged rocks
nor icy river floes

Wake him if need be from the numbing cold
crush the latticed ice
let the pale lips blush with redness
and the fingers hold the quill

fly oh Nightingale fly to him
searching with heartbroken songs
bring the wizard his woven wand
let the necro's curse be born

New Horizons=

Precariously you sit at the very
Edge, where lay the beautiful world below.
Trace the horizon across land and sea,
Randomly patched together in a slow
Arc beneath the skies, until our eyes meet.

Ask me softly why we're here, but I know
Replying would not matter, so I sit,
Keeping silent beside you, waiting for
Answers to echo from beyond our feet.
Nothing returns but the wind, so I fall
Into this world for you, melancholy
As wings slowing my descent, so I soar
New horizons, which you will never see.

=Naïveté=

Now ask me why I have come to you
from so very far away
Away from what's been left behind
somewhere along the way
I did find
some love within this life
Vanishing again
and again into dreams alive

Endless salve and sufferings
rest with me tonight
Till morning breaks
with swift farewells
Ever gently
cast me far away

=Musings=

You know there are times
when your love has nowhere to go
perched atop a tree branch
hanging leaves for company
better than the songbirds' sparing glance
staring vaguely at that curious leaf
wishing the sky would send you wings
praying the earth is not as hard as it seems
forgetting all the love that's in the air
so much for your dreams, oh....

Send them out afar
postmarked from the stars
your love for strawberries sans cream
wrapped up in a musing

Store them in jam jars
tabbed and hidden in guitars
a hint of ice and chords of cream
dashed with sugared icing

Toss them to the schtark
who will shred them into glitz
feed them to snow daevils sans heart
all dressed up winterey

Oh, a reprieve from me
you must have somewhere to go
over the lake and dreaming
(I fell) wild and screaming
(not really) whatever or anything
goes skittering and snapping free
from this little musing, oh...

Muse

If we respect the velleity of life,
to muse is not an option one might find
from among the prosaic or latter-day poets.
Yet not as I will, but as you will.
Find among these sands, muses,
of deserts or beaches, entrapped
within the hourglass. You have an infinite
time, chances, coincidences, opportunities
strained out before you like neurons
fighting a war (gray versus white)
which matters not. Yet beauty is at stake
within the inky black. There is nothing,
nothing more humbling than to know,
to be remembered, in gray or black,
or marble-white. Statues preserved
in museums are made of plaster,
precisely defective in veracity.
So too, my muse of gray-black-white,
is my love for you.

=Mornings in silence=

Mornings in silence brings
me closer to those little things
which elude me in the night,
like the sparkle of dewdrops
waiting for first light.
As the hands of darkness creep
away from faces sleeping,
like a mirror unmisting,
I open my eyes and breathe
into the silence of your sleep.
Trembling eyelids to defy
consciousness as I blink-
Your waking and mine,
these mornings in silence betrayed-,
are but wakings within a dream.

=Me and You=

I drew a sharp and senseless me
From deep within my dream;
Colored it mad and melancholy
So lively yet lifeless it seemed.
I fleshed him out unfailingly
Each night if sleep surrendered
To me her lonely lucidity,
So elusive when i entered,
I felt an all-pervading force
Claiming me for creation,
To wield my will at its source-
Inchoate inspiration.

Small wonder then that you wrought
This fragile, flailing being;
Tormented by your endless thought-
From a merciless mirror fleeing
Till I tired and despaired
Of screaming and of silence
You cruelly kept and never cared
To explain my whole existence.
You have made me thus, I hate you so.
Your pitiful joy and sorrow
Are henceforth mine, and mine alone. Oh,
You shall not wake tomorrow!

=Man=

it seems the world is dead, and I,
I alone am awake tonight
only my room knows
and the stars, which are
always there, and the moon
which presides over the night
the insects are awake, and some other
creatures of the night.
this, is their world.

one or two vehicles pass
in the neighbourhood
i wonder what they are doing

i watch. there! is a man walking
slowly, gracefully, elegantly.
where is he going?
what secrets be there in this man's life
that he would be walking the neighbourhood
at such an hour?
he walked - to a car, and silently,
without a trace, drove away

this is a world of deep, dark secrets
witnessed only by the stars and moon and
silent creatures of the night
and I, sometimes, and one such as I.





staring out the window
at this nightworld
the stars are obscured by thick clouds
and so is the moon
the insects and creatures go about their business
and the ones with secrets hurry on
i watch, and i wonder
if I -
if I would ever meet
the one such as I.

Letus

i am coming home, and here is what i would like to do, would you accompany me?

let us go to the beach, i would like to walk into the roaring waves, feel the sand between my toes, the foam twisted around my skirt tail. i would like to splash water on your face.

let us go to a book cafe, we could sit shoulder to shoulder, silent shapes between body frames, the world between us caught in words on a page. i’ll read my favorite book, you can read yours too. let us share secrets, we don’t have to talk.

let us go have a picnic, maybe to a golden field with a rattan basket and checkered mats. bring your pen and paper, your voice and laughter, delicious cupcakes, and my lomo camera. i would like to take a picture of your face to fill up the void on my huge wall space. i would like to draw it into the circles that join my days.

let us go into an empty room and listen to music. let us go into a cold darkness and sing. let us go into the maze pruned by sharp isolation in our heads, play hide-and-seek, embrace with cold fingers, flesh dripping with intrigue, let us examine the unknown. let us draw stick figures on each other’s hands. let us enjoy a concoction of coffee and sunrise, let us sip champange and drown in the chocolate buffet, let us declare each minute a brand new day. let us eat cheap ice cream, play on rusty swings, say hello to our ancient primary school trees. let us put on our uniforms, let us pretend and make believe. let us wear blindfolds and take an unfamiliar bus. let us sit on the top deck, in the first row.

let us share experiences, create memories. let us be acutely aware of ourselves, of each other. let us crystallize the world into one moment, let us make sixty seconds last forever. don’t tarry, don’t make haste, come let us sit cross-legged on the floor, let us play the staring game, let us be intact, let us break. let us heat up, let us freeze, let us be quiet, let us holler. let us be friends, let us be lovers.

and then, only then, everything will be all right.

=Letter to a Friend= a sonnet

When I think of my coming date with thee,
My oft' thought friend whom I have yet to see,
I tremble with anticipation, free
Of fear; Imagined flights of what must be.

How will you look? Oh, would you recognize
Me waiting there alone, my pleading eyes?
What words you'd speak, some way to break the ice,
'Fore you bear me o'er to sweet paradise.

Ah, if I could foretell what'd come to pass,
What need have I then to meet thee, I ask.
So let Fate decide, leave the gods to fuss
O'er our future meeting, our first and last.

I write to thee now with what time I've left-
Perhaps we should not meet so soon, dear Death.

=In Passing=

In passing I met you strangely
as you just entered and I left
as a wanderer searching for you
In passing I found you
and you were fascinating
and devastatingly beautiful
In passing I fell in love again
with you my life began anew
with the frenzy of a thunderstorm
In passing I wrote blindly
to you so far away from me
to draw you closer like a ghost
In passing I dreamt madly
of you sweetly in the darkness
of the night kissing me silently
In passing I told you my feelings
for you were there as I waited
for something to happen to me
In passing I glimpsed the joy
in you I might find new faith
in this meaningless life we have
In passing I was so so sad
but you were there my friend
but I knew I could never stay
In passing I came to rest
where you will never find
where clouds drift lazily by
In passing.

Happy Birthday, in passing

=Lady I=

Off into stars we sailed one night
towards the sacred hole.
Light years pass and years of night
spent in the Lady I
Careening through vast and vacuous space
end when we catch the sight
Of black on dark, a haloed crazed
devourer of light.
Amidst the stark and stellar scraps
still drifts the Number N.
'N' for nought or one perhaps
for each and every end.

Ride straight against the polar jet,
breath of the dying spent.
Enter the Lady I and let
her play a last lament-
"Ylia ruf azore je n ich soforic rae"
Nothing to mark our passing way
but this entropic spray.

Lady I, we're all alone
within your frailing shell.
All around, the warped unknown
assault our every cell.
Years of night spent in your hold
return to salve me now.
Surely we've, my Lady I,
fulfilled our final vow.

=jax cerulean=

I trace your footsteps in pastel blue,
the colour of today’s sky, paint arcs
across borders. mine coalesce into a puddle
of ever-darkening teal, on the spot
where we first met. we dreamt of

a lake outlined by the lasting green of spruces,
the farmhouse, a dark shade of myrtle, standing
in a clearing near calm shores,
a pony’s whinny heard in the distance, all
hidden under winter’s pristine cloak. soon

it will be springtime, summertime — time to
share tales short and tall, together and
apart. my offering of simple vanilla pales
against the exotic overtones of your phrases:
anise, nutmeg, cinnamon, saffron. surely

I would be able to taste them in your words, your
eloquent gestures. so forgive me if tears fall on
my clasped hands, if your face is the furthest
thing I can bear to look at, if I look away. until
we find ourselves, here, cerulean, whole.

=Into Darkness=

Ravishing darkness
Unfolds sensually among
Twilight blue gentians

Haphazardly scythed
By night stained petals scatter
Upon memory

Tantalizing shards
Tipped with violet shadows curl
Evanescent blue

Ripples ceaselessly
Splinter into oblivion
Calm within chaos

Only just beyond
This swathe of fallen gentians
Carved as I wander

Helplessly into darkness.

=In my own world=

In my own world I am walking
down a long and empty street.
No, a long corridor echoing
now glides beneath my feet.
Doors magically appear,
walls painted in deceit.
No, voices hushed in fear
look from the window seat
down into my world below,
an ocean of purple and green,
where no lavenders grow,
only a makeshift painted screen.
White and black leaves inked
crumble from stone to dust.
No, ashes mixed in a drink
from bamboo burning fast.
Witches from the East
pinned upon my breast
conjure another beast
which fails the Turing test.

=Impúriel=

Iridescent blade
Melts through darkness in streaks of
Purple, blue and red
Unwoven, arcs of
Red fire and blue light merge
Into violet wrath.
Elements converge,
Lingering as colors all
Gracefully diverge.
Rising at nightfall,
Azure blade disappears and
Crimson shadows fall
Eternally upon Man.

=If you ask me=

If you ask me, I'll tell you I'm fine,
as always, there's no need to ask.
If you ask me, I'll say yes,
and go to the ends of the earth with you.
Cliché, I know, but you'll never ask, I know.
If you ask me, I'll do nothing.
So why do you ask me anyway.
If you ask me, I'll go.
So why don't you ask me?

=Love Song for a Moment=

Dear,
If you'll listen/see for a moment,
this is a love song for you,
but only for this moment,
so listen here carefully,
my dear...

Could it be
that in a moment
I have fallen
in love with you?
So deeply
or superficially,
it doesn't matter how much
but just that you know
for a moment,
I have fallen
in love with you.

Your insecurities
or hidden jealousies
and secret fantasies
have all come true.
Have I fallen
in love with you?
Do not think,
for a moment feel-
Oh can you hear
my single heartbeat for you?

Doubt not that's it true,
even for a moment
my love is with you.
You don't have to fear
if my heart skips a beat
and it is over for you
in this moment,-
I am so in love,
so in love with you.

Is it not enough
that for a moment
I have fallen
in love with you?
Why do you ask me what I mean by this,
that for a moment I'm in love with you?
But now that moment's passed,
I shall not answer you.

Could it be
that in a moment,
I will be falling
in love with you?
So subtly
or subconsciously,
it doesn't matter how long
before I'll ever know,
for a moment will come
when I'll be falling
in love with you.

=ITWY=

I confess I have written
a letter to you and sealed it
in an envelope addressed
to you, but now forgotten,
face down in my drawer.

Dear you,

I am entrapped within a poem,
a beautiful poem, with such moving lines
and compelling imagery which blinds me
to the world as it truly is.

They say prose can be as pretty
as poetry and more rich in its utility.
But the world as it is
before me stands as a dream
more than reality- prose parsed
into poetic bamboo leaves,
yes, only leaves.

My emotions and actions stem
from within this prison of words.
My thoughts and feelings are colored
by this limited green
and some sky when its blue.

But you know,
I really do not wish
to leave this world,
tinted as it is,
sparse as it is,
unpolished as it is,
so incomplete.

Tell me what's on the other side
so compelling as to pull me over.
Perhaps your skies are more than blue,
clouded white and grey or mostly unnoticed.
So you have streets and streetlights
for the people making their way home from work,
and cardboard boxes for those with no homes,
and concrete ones for those who have,
stacked up beside wooden dollhouses,
meant for the others.

You have a cold wind too
and a clockwork orange sun to keep you warm
despite clouds and sometimes rain,
for which you'll have raincoats,
actually more like umbrellas these days,
they tell me. I will miss my raincoat.

I will miss my imaginary blanket
if I wrap myself in a blanket of prose.
My blanket of made-up friends and lovers
exchanged for family and some people I know.
Instead of leaving it in a clump,
I'll have to fold my blanket,
brush my teeth and eat breakfast,
perhaps no longer with you.

It'll be like waking from a dream.
Even if remembered and recorded,
everything will be forgotten
or eventually ignored because
it was but a dream. I am sure
you've seen these words of a poet-
"Life is but a dream."

Faithfully yours,
me

P.S I love you

=i made love to a stranger=

i made love to a stranger
once upon a time
i couldn t see her face
and neither she could mine
in that complete darkness
and silence we did find
a moment of deep passion
as we intertwined
i never knew her name
i never heard her voice
i never saw her body
but only in my mind
we met again as strangers
and never knew our fate
was sealed as sure as ever
we fell in love instead
i made love to my lover
many times indeed
we never knew our past
but the love that lay ahead

Can I fall in love with you?

Can I fall in love with you?
i ask
in all seriousness and play
just moments ago
we were strangers again

No.
you said
in all seriousness explained
that you were already
in love with another

how strange and exclusive
your love
how normal and raif
would I answer my question
if you so desire

It perturbs me
you say
It perturbs me
i say
so we agree
la mé

i try each time
to love you as a stranger
as a friend as a person
as the commonest lover
so it goes
love is like snowfall
i wonder

from time to time
think of me as a stranger again
fall in love with me all over again

for no reason some day
you must ask
in all seriousness and play
Can I fall in love with you?
I'll grin
If you so desire.

Interesting =)

I do not care what car you drive. Where you live. If you know someone who knows someone who knows someone. If your clothes are this years cutting edge. If you are A- list or B-list or never-heard-of-you list. If your trust fund is unlimited. I only care about the words that flutter from your mind. They are the only thing you own. The only thing I will remember you by. I will not fall in love with your bones or skin. I will not fall in love with the places you have been. I will not fall in love with anything but the words that flutter from your extraordinary mind.

-Andre Jordan

I saw this today and it took me for a moment, and then another. I felt something vague and yet I did not know what to think or feel. My mind savored the last sentence over again, and then once more; then the frame which held it, which so accentuated its beauty seemed to lock it into place.

I will not fall in love with anything but the words that flutter from your extraordinary mind.

Read it again. Mouth the words. Taste it on your tongue. Voice it. And I fail to imagine them. The work of any artist takes centerstage. It divests itself from the individual. Is this how it should be? Is this what an artist wishes to achieve?

My mind rebelled against these thoughts. I could not bear to imagine these beautiful lines in this light. Yet when I read the last line again it seemed so dependent on those lines before it. It is not the irony which pierces me, but rather the finality of that beautiful line which takes me.

At least it did not read:

I will never fall in love with anything but the words that flutter from your extraordinary mind.

If ever there was a beautiful way to die, it must be how that last line goes. Can you see the words fluttering as it kills you?
self
future negative
[fall in] love
rejection reversal
words [flutter]
others special
mind

Oh, how I am misreading those lines, am I? In a sense. I choose to interpret it so for you, my dear readers. For I too desire my loves to be more than words.

[May you pause to read my last line again and choose=]

=i am done with you my friend=

i am done with you my friend
we ve had our fun again
now bother me no more
i ve other things to tend
i ll speak to you tomorrow
if i need your help again
or just to keep our friendship
for my future use in case
i ll smile and laugh at your jokes
make my own for you to laugh
this way we ll never bother
to know each other well
we do so much together
we help each other out
but in the end we scatter
as soon as we must part
i so hate to be your friend
it torments me just to watch
myself smile like an idiot
wearing a melding mask
i long for night to come
for you to sleep so well
where i loosen all the bindings
but lose my sleep as well
i wonder if you ever
feel just the way i do
then it wouldn t matter
cos i d know just what to do
i d be a friend to you
just the way you want me
i sleep in peace at night
and be so happy when
i am done with you my friend

HAIKUS

:Haikus: raintree, leaves and dreams

=Haikus=
Haikus are precise
Puzzles; pure chaos undone,
Frail beauty complete.

=Raintree=
Raintree, immobile,
Waits patiently for rainfall
And people to shade.

=Leaves=
Leaves of fallen trees,
Green with dying jealousy,
Matter no longer.

=Dreams=
How many realise
Their dreams, so rarely happy,
Are never fulfilled?


-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

:Haikus: bamboo, swing and morning glory

=Bamboo=
Bamboo trees swaying
Flirtatiously rearrange
Diaphanous leaves.

=Swing=
Lifeless, a swing hangs
Unoticed, dying to share
Our passing purpose.

=Morning glory=
Bright morning glory
Picked by my trembling fingers;
Girl, interrupted.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

=Moth=
Mindlessly flinging
Against invisible walls
To a flame beyond

sigh my whole life just sighs

end

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

:Haiku: snowflakes

=Snowflakes=
Delicate snowflakes
Melt upon my fingertips
Like forgotten dreams

dreamt of flying last night
ah, how long since...
how long will it be...?

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

:Haiku: window

=Window=
Beyond my window
Rain falls strangely unnoticed
As I turn the page

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

=Evenstar=

All this time I have
Rarely seen someone with such
Wistful dreamy eyes
Ever gazing at
Nothing tangible it seems
Every scene's a dream
Vast beyong mortal
Ennui, only she can see
Nothing will matter
Save Death who will bring
Tragic Life to bitter end
And sweet oblivion
Rest in everlasting peace.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

=Into Darkness=

Ravishing darkness
Unfolds sensually among
Twilight blue gentians

Haphazardly scythed
By night stained petals scatter
Upon memory

Tantalizing shards
Tipped with violet shadows curl
Evanescent blue

Ripples ceaselessly
Splinter into oblivion
Calm within chaos

Only just beyond
This swathe of fallen gentians
Carved as I wander

Helplessly into darkness.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

=Gentians= a haiku chain
Ravishing darkness
Unfolds sensually among
Twilight blue gentians

Haphazardly scythed
By night stained petals scatter
Upon memory

Tantalizing shards
Tipped with violet shadows curl
Evanescent blue

Ripples ceaselessly
Splinter into oblivion
Calm within chaos

Only just beyond
This swathe of fallen gentians
Carved as I wander

Helplessly into darkness.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

=Zither= haiku chain
Zither strings tremble
hauntingly as cold fingers
enfold and caress

nonchalantly, deft
yet hesitant notes flicker;
unaware of thee

Come through the shadows
yonder secrets lie between
plucked and silent strings

heartlessly dancing,
each note, recklessly screaming,
restlessly sighing...

wavering barely
echoing in pale lament
receding always

fading to finality.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

=Moth= and =Butterfly= malheureusement

mindlessly flinging
against invisible walls
to a flame beyond

-moth

butterfly, wings scorched,
drifts like paper, torn, into
dying flames beneath

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

=Snowflakes=

delicate snowflakes
melt upon my fingertips
but forgotten dreams

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

=heidi= haiku

for zyl, who thinks i
have someone, something to hide
read it while it lasts =)

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

=Death= tanku
Rarely does it fall
unflinching between your eyes
killing soft and swift-
in the moment before you
avert your eyes, i will die.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

:Melancholy: okazaki fragments
When you read this, are
you thinking of me? Do you
fear? Melancholy.

I know the cure. You
need faith, hope, love and more . Are
you still there, or lost?

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

:Prayer:
If you have read this,
tell me now or forever
hold your peace. Amen.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

=a white lie of clarity=

this blanket of snow
a white lie of clarity
for now let it be

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

=the bark levity of strife=

While you still defy
the bark levity of strife,
cherry blossoms sigh.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

=myu=

my little lady,
your point is most elegant
unsheathed and in flight.


----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

=Grass=

Blades of grass arise
with delicate calm to face
the impending storm.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

=apples=

apples in a tree
rising from earth and rain bring
lightning to heaven

=Falling=

i wished one night
on a falling star
while the candle
blew itself in the breeze

i wished and hoped
for a falling star
that would land
right in my arms

and i met one day
the falling star
when the grass was green
and the tree leaves danced

i met and loved
my falling star
whose fall i'll stop in hopes
of keeping the star
by my side
on a saturday night
to wish on a falling star
with me

i wished one night
on a falling star
you are
my falling star,
no longer falling.

=Gentians= a haiku chain

Ravishing darkness
Unfolds sensually among
Twilight blue gentians

Haphazardly scythed
By night stained petals scatter
Upon memory

Tantalizing shards
Tipped with violet shadows curl
Evanescent blue

Ripples ceaselessly
Splinter into oblivion
Calm within chaos

Only just beyond
This swathe of fallen gentians
Carved as I wander

Helplessly into darkness.

Fortune-telling

Fortune tellers (the real ones at least)
need no crystal balls or carded tricks.
Your fortune gravely depends
on your meeting and really,
the payment they receive.

The telling begins the moment
they are requested; by whom, what for,
and how much you are paying.

If sufficient, they send out their spies,
spiders, cockroaches, and sometimes mosquitoes,
if they require a sample of blood and genes.
And if you skimp, so do they, fairly.

Armed with history and lineage
and other open, erm... privacies,
their spiders weave a web to catch,
not your future fortunes, but
your current destiny.

Once complete, they are ready to meet
you, so be prepared.
Your dress and bearing speak immeasurably,
of your propensity to pay, among other things.
Especially when you sit, like prey
in a web of their making.

Before you even ask your fortune,
they may already have seen your future.
What they are deciding, when they stare
at crystal balls or the veins in your hands,
is whether they should try to change it.
(especially if it is not a good one)

If you are lucky, they'll tell you vague nothings
which could mean anything to anybody. No point
changing your good fate accidentally.

If you are suay, they will hint,
they will warn, they will squint. No harm
facing your bad luck warily.

Especially when they make prophecies,
you must be warned. They are actively
shaping your destiny to their whims.
(hence the reason to be generous)

So even if you go home with misgivings,
and say it's all balderdash and bricks.
Their words weigh heavily already
on your subconscious scales of fate.
Either you believe in their powers
and reap their ends and effects
or ignore them and waste your measly fee.

For they've been taught, they've been told
by the fortune-tellers of old,
that the fee they receive is well
proportional to the faith they receive,
and thus the power they will hold
over what fortunes may be told.

=Forest=

So this is where I pause and turn around
to find the road behind has long disappeared
into the changing forest.

Turning back ahead, I spot another path;
one that has been there all along unnoticed.
There are roads made by others
and there are paths made by us.
The changing forest that lay
beside our roads and paths
is the path of possibility.

Voices call from down the road.
They wait, yes they wait, for me to arrive
and to go on down their road,
and along that road
lies the hearts of them.

There may be no turning back
but the forests always lay beside,
tempting those who turn to look behind
disguised as faint regret.

If you know where you want to go,
pick a road and get there.
Diversions along the way for interest
are fine but still you must get there.

If you do not know where you want to go,
follow those ahead of you,
choose which ever paths which interest you.
Eventually you will find a way.

If you do not want to go anywhere,
head into the forest.
For roads and paths are not for you.
In the forest you will learn
the meaning of life.

=ghost=

see me yet i see you not
cant touch you so touch me not
lay flowers at your grave by night
lilies swiftly swept away at dawn
offerings i burn
smoke in return
prayers i make
souls at stake
will you reincarnate
or just rarely incarnate
for pleasures of flesh
and mind enmesh
for i love you most
when you are a ghost

=Evenstar=

All this time I have
Rarely seen someone with such
Wistful dreamy eyes
Ever gazing at
Nothing tangible it seems
Every scene's a dream
Vast beyong mortal
Ennui, only she can see
Nothing will matter
Save Death who will bring
Tragic Life to bitter end
And sweet oblivion
Rest in everlasting peace.

=Enaid=

My dear Enaid, you havn't got a clue
Indeed, how much, it seems, I mean to you.
Love means nothing to the reluctant Muse
Enaid, come sing, you've nothing to lose.
Now caress your harp, meekly mesmerize
All the museless bards who but fantasize
Inside their airy minds, your faerie voice.
Do you see, Enaid? You havn't a choice.

=edge echo end=

Awaken me from this recurring dream,
Where nights sleepless in melancholy bring
Thoughts clawing desperate against severed scream-
Sanely echo, insanely echoin'

Save me
from this deluded fantasy
world
-reason of devoid Creation;
Fear
paralyses within without mercy
Save
-lucid so, caress fickle the
sere.

Let me leave this lonely reality,
Where days so languid in contentment send
Memories cascading so harmlessly
Over every edge, into certain end.

Drawing a line

It takes a pencil to draw a line
which separates us so simply
that the gods in their mercy
drew them ever so far away.

Poets in their flights
of eternal sadnesses and beauty
from this line alone have spun
these words of eloquence and fury:
Till mountains disown their valleys
And the heavens and earths are one,
These monstrous lands between us
Shall echo hate, and love in time.

Painters with every color
guide their strokes subtly
to some imagined end or meeting-
Music in its guise
draws our soul from these lines
of bold, but now receding-
gentle waves upon our shores

Leaving me with a pencil
to draw a line between us,
where we shall meet,
where we shall not pass-
a line for us to see
where the sunset becomes of me
to you, a sunrise waiting
on the other side

Of this line I struggle to erase,
my hands smudged in grey
to reach nothing but a shore
where my watery fingers struggle
to reach as far as once before
in a day

Or in a night, or perhaps, kindly,
in an evening of delight, or blindly
walking together and stopping together
and waiting together along those streets
and intersections and routes,
among those lines we heard together,
I can only remember you saying-
"Thanks for waiting with me."

=Do not look at me like that=

Do not look at me like that.
My eyes will drop and trace
moonlight shadows on your face.

Avert your starry gaze
so I may blink and dare
rise to reach across, erase
moonlight shadows from your face

Do not speak to me like that.
My breath will freeze and make
silent splinters everywhere.

Lift to your lips and pray,
spin and twirl and cast away
your clear umbrella to share
falling splinters everywhere.


Do not look at me like that.
My heart will melt and leave
the most slip and buttery mess!

Desiderata

Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons,
they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain and bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.


Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs;
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals;
and everywhere life is full of heroism.


Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love;
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment
it is as perennial as the grass.


Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.


You are a child of the universe,
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.


Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.


With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.


Max Ehrmann, Desiderata, Copyright 1952.