They say

If you leave a rough little child

Long enough by the river bank

He will become better


He will be washed clean

And gently be eroded

By the clear running water

Till he ceases to exist




Been years waiting by the river bank

I am still the same

Maybe he will come

Maybe he will do as he wants

And I will have no say


I remain the same

Even if I feel dry during the drought

And I can’t pretty much find passion for anything

I can’t even notice I am dry


Or choked during the rains

And can’t handle all the normal things

Other human beings enjoy handling

All the pleasant emotions and moments

And miracles and experiences


The heat refused to melt me

During the harshest of times

And cold means little to me

I don’t take pleasure in being aloof


I am still waiting

Maybe he will come

To touch me

That is all I want


Maybe he will touch me

At my curves and spots

And straighten me out




Making me wet

He won’t be rough or harsh

He will just touch my edges lightly

And gradually smoothen me out


Please come

River spirit

This little stone is rough

Make it smooth


Been waiting here by the river bank

All these years

Watching all those seasons and tides

Remaining unchanged


But when he comes

The river god will use his water

To smoothen me out

As he makes me wet all over



Or maybe just for luck

He will wear me out

As water erodes the rock

And that will be the end of my story!


BACKGROUND: “River God” by Nicole Nordeman playing in the background.

I am taking a step back tonight from shamelessly bemoaning and eulogizing the sad state of life today.

I am taking a step forward today into the hope that things will be better and light will shine.

But, somehow, I am still carrying the cynicism along with me through the door into that hope.




Some say rain settles the scattering heart
Some argue it enrages the wandering

The rains have started and things are as they should be
The floods have come for my roof which was built to last
After which they reach for my soul which was meant to stay
I thought I was lost in a sweet dream
Not knowing the showers are from an actual leaking roof
In the midnight I wake
Lightning lights my flooded room

Oh darn!

I don’t try to light the candle with my wet matches
I don’t reach for my rechargeable lamp
Which of course is dead
Thankful electricity is long gone
And I don’t have to step into a flood of shocks

They say rain enrages the wandering heart.


I have never built a home to last
I know I am always set to move with the next turn of the season
I don’t spend two seasons in one place
I don’t settle down and take roots
In friends and jobs and titles and neighbourhoods
I don’t plan for that future
I don’t carry a rope with me to tie myself down to anyone with
I don’t even carry a printer to print certificates and garner awards

The heart is not wild or rebellious
It is just prone to wander

It finds discomfort in calmness and weakness in stability
So I take a sweet flower with me wherever I go
To give those around who would be close to me
And whilst they see it as a pleasant gesture
I am watching for when the flower-fade begins
As a timer for my departure

People kid themselves
Don’t human physiology and psychology teach one thing
All are in constant state of activity
Even in the depth of that most restful sleep
The body is still active
Only dead things settle down

It is not deliberate
Things have just come to be the way they are
Hairs are always on end
Sleeping with eyes wide open
Hands always reached out
Feet always itching to move

Till the day I grew tired of it
And finally decided to make a home

Well now, here’s back to the start and end of the story

Settled finally in my home
At the start of the rainy season
Which is always a reminder to count
The many showers of blessings in my short life
The rain tears through my roof
In the middle of this night
I wake up in the middle of my house
The room dark and flooded
Full of possessions and loved ones
Grab that bag I kept in the corner of the wardrobe
And in 5 seconds I’m out the house
Only my boxers on
Not even stopping to check
If everyone else is alive in the flooded space
Sling my bag over my broad thickened shoulders
And leap through the window of the upper bedroom
My bare feet making no sound on the floor below
In the middle of the stormy rain
In the middle of the night


My bag containing the two ONLY possessions
My wandering heart
And a beautiful rose

BACKGROUND: “Quiet times” by Dido Armstrong playing in the background; and I echo “It’s hard enough to see the world as it is, and hold on anything”.

“Caution: what cynicism you may accuse me of is what you humanity has shown me. I am just a mirror; and my writings are not my own.” -JANISH

Mankind has done it again. The heart is by far more unpredictable than the weather. I am amazed afresh at how we behave. No, I have not seen it all! I have seen a lot, and I should be used to how our minds dance; but it amazes me afresh with some sparks of ingenuity. And I am left asking, fallen on the dancefloor, “how did you do that?” It does not follow any rule of love or reason. It does not even follow itself. It just wanders… drifts… fluctuates… dissociates….



All that happens is change
That’s what defines a life form
Times came and went
But I remained unchanged
Was it that I did not even learn anything
Shouldn’t I at least grow in wisdom
Well, I added the knowledge that my life’s seasons change
But I already knew life’s seasons change

I’ll miss the old times and whom I used to be
And I will always gaze at that painting of the old me
That painting set in grey muddy colours
These thoughts run through my mind
As I consider the new season of my life
Coming with showers and brightness

The days of the dark clouds are crawling out
They are waving at me from a distance
Don’t worry fellas
I’ll miss you
I think these things within me
I wave back
I smile
I blink
I hold back a tear
I sniff lightly
I do not let them see it

What to do
When life is as it should be
What to do
When I cannot find my inspiration
When I have nothing to say to those facing sorrowful times
When all I can write about are the almost meaningless things
When getting a promotion at work is just ordinary
When boasting of new inventions is the norm
When buying my third car is just another hobby

When someone frowning at me ruins my day
When someone crying beside me soils my mood
When someone ruffling my dress gets me angry
Yes, those are the kinds of things that disturb me now

What to do
When I can’t keep a poker face
Because now all my bosses are so nice to me
And I have no reason to be guarded around them
And my emotions bleed shamelessly on my sleeve
For all to see and read my thoughts clearly

What to do
When I can’t empathize with my patients
Because I have so quickly forgotten
What it means to live in psychic chaos
Lying in peace on the bed of conflicts
Because my senses have grown accustomed to darkness
That even the light would hurt
And make my eyes bleed
Like a traveller in a canoe in the middle of a sea
Where the most peaceful moments
Are the dark nights he can’t read the sky to navigate
And he would just sit still
With the barest of ease nature affords him
Because the monsters of the great sea of life
Are busy tonight
To produce lovelier babies
Newer sorrows this life has not seen before
Maybe tomorrow they will think fondly of him
And the whole family will pay him a visit

No, life won’t cut him a break

Life doesn’t cut these patients of mine a break
And some of them may soon be back after discharge
Suffering from relapses
Whilst their kind doctor can only manage sympathy
Because he cannot empathize
He has forgotten what chaos smells like
Has life cut him his own break

Life doesn’t cut one a break

So strongly do I believe this
That it doesn’t make sense to me
That these dark clouds over my estate are leaving
Not only is it abnormal
It is somewhat sad
These dark clouds over my life
Have been a source of beauty
Colouring my days with different shades of grey
Muddy grey colours

What will I do now
With my melancholic-creative self

These thoughts run through my mind
As I wave at these dark clouds
Half-hoping they will change their minds and turn back
I say no word to them
Just a sniff I suppress
Just a tear I hold back
As these lovely clouds creep over the horizon
And happy blue skies stroll through
I wave them in
I give no smile
I give no blink
I let out a sniff
The tear I had held back trekked through

The happy days ask me why
I tell them they are tears of joy
As I look sideways fondly at the old painting of me
Set in grey sorrowful colours
And wonder within me what is to become of my life
In this new season I am in
The happy days of happy thoughts!



If looking through your window in the rain doesn’t move you, or even looking at this picture doesn’t touch you, then you need to see me for evaluation.

Finally I have seen it all

I have seen all the seasons of life

All different kinds of people

I have learnt all there is to know


Time to dance to the last rain


Gradually these clouds gather

Heavy nimbus clouds

Carefully in formation

These kinds don’t come by accident or regularly

These dark clouds over my estate only

They snigger playfully, sardonically, as they march in place

And soon some sweet little rain drops show

They trek carefully down my windowpane

In sync with those down my cheek

In-between these drops I see seasons of my life gone by


In-between these rain drops

I count the many blessings I have enjoyed in my short living

I see the many smiles that have wrinkled my old handsome face

The bright mornings I woke up happy and strong

The sweet quiet times strolling in the midnight

The awards and honours to a distinguished psychiatrist

Who has seen the chaos of men’s souls and survived

The wealth I have amassed and shared


In-between these tear drops

I count the many sorrows I have suffered in my short life

I see the many frowns that have wrinkled my old gravely face

The grey mornings I have felt like lying all day crying in bed

The loud weary times toiling away in the sun

The dilemmas and confusions of a chronic shrink

Who has not remained the same after seeing the mind’s darkness

The heartbreaks I have amassed and caused


I say no word

It is loud enough as it is

I am still quiet and peaceful

Totally at ease with the clouds in my world

I have cleared my house and sorted out my affairs

The stage is wide-set and the audience seated

They wait happily for my debut

For how I dance as I exit

At the applause of a million showers of the last rain


BACKGROUND: I find myself recently constantly wondering how actually short life is. For anyone like me who runs a tight schedule (and I can count many of you that I have met), you occasionally scold yourself for not stopping to breathe or enjoying happier moments than when you have just completed some project and soon you define your moments by your professional/work accomplishments. It’s only occasionally we do this because we are way too busy to even indulge in such thoughts. We soon are lost in our “slavings-away”. For all the drama and activities we go through as humans, the whole story seems so short and pretty incomplete for a movie producer to even make a timeless classic from.

Here’s a little reminder and toast to the fact. A reminder that itself will not last long. A reminder that will be gone and forgotten with the first drop of the next rain over my little tropical city.


(Source: deviantart.net)

You gave no warning

When I did what I thought was right

You just smiled

When I did what I knew was wrong

You just smiled

I woke up first day of last year

And you were gone

I was sure I was still dreaming

Because you leaving has to be a nightmare

Because it was supposed to be morning

But it was still dark

It was morning but it was dark

Because when you left

You took away light

And since then the world has been in darkness

Day or night

The saddest thing was only you left

You didn’t take away your things from my house

It was when I looked for you yourself

That I realized you had left

Are you dead or just gone

Would I ever know

If you were the one I asked that question

You would probably just smile

You would just smile

Well, maybe I will wait here

For when you come pick your things

Please tell me you are coming to

That way I will have the sad dignity

Of being made fully aware

You are finally gone

And there’d be no mistaking it

I will sit here on my bed

Waiting for you

No! Not in self-pity

Or in a shameful attempt at histrionics

But what’s to do when it’s all dark

And I am tired of sleeping forever

And no one’s going to work outside

What’s to do to make sense of the madness

What’s an ill shrink got to do

Except to sit patiently on the bed

Listen to the nocturnal animals

Talking and playing together

Saying things only I can hear

Sweet whispers only I hear in my head

Well, they are comforting

Because now I hear the animals talk about you

They call you mysterious and strange

Well they seem to have you all figured out

Since that’s what seems to describe you best

I’ll wait for when you come

To pick your things

And maybe I will beg you

To tell me why you left

And took away the light of the world

Leaving us in chaotic perfection and confused clarity

Our centres holding as well as a rubbery cornerstone

And we have only managed to build lives like grand sand castles

(Source: deviantart.com)

Even so I am afraid I may not get an answer

Because you seem to like speaking in riddles

You seem to fancy shrouded and cloudy speeches

Replying my questions with words that raise more questions

I know what I’ll do

Since I can’t sleep or do anything

I know what to do

I’ll just wait




After sending this all over the world

Maybe it will get to you

Maybe it will get to your heart

And you will come

And maybe when you come

Maybe you won’t tell me why you left

Maybe you will come back to me

Maybe you will stay for real this time

BACKGROUND: “Incomplete” by Backstreet Boys is playing in the background.

No, it wasn’t quite the song that inspired this. After writing this, I just couldn’t think of a better background now than the opening lines of the song.

On growing up -feelings.

Ah! The guileless smile I once had and may never have. Now, all facial expressions have hidden meanings. (Source: funmag.org)

If I smiled only when feeling happy,

How did I make my husband think all was well between us

When he forgot my birthday whilst at work yesterday

How do I make my harsh bosses think I like them

When I’m passively considering killing one of them as a lesson

How would I make the world believe my life a bed of roses

When asked about the exams I actually failed

How would I make pastor keep believing God only gives riches

When I haven’t eaten today as at this night of writing this


If I cried only when sad,

How do I make my lover know how hurtful his deceptions are

Hoping he won’t think I cry because I’m moved by his sugary words

How did I let my roommate know the scorpion sting hurt

Hoping he didn’t think it was because of my heartbreak

How would I let her know how much I missed her

Hoping she wouldn’t think I hurt from kneeling for too long

How would I make them know how funny and ridiculous they were

Hoping they wouldn’t think I was hot with jealousy


I have learnt what you wanted me to

You told me I needed to be smart and savvy

That I had to stop being naïve and grow up

And realise things aren’t always so simple

Well, I hope you can tell I have followed you obediently

And this is not just an act to get you off my neck

I hope you can tell I appreciate your seeing this

And I am not somewhat indifferent to what you really think


If only writers and writings were always sincere…

a song for my itch

Say the words
Speak these words NOW
You can choose to read them
Or sing them like an acapella
You may even spice them up with a rock guitar
But please let out these words like you mean them
Read these lines to me just as I am writing them
Just like I have written them
Only then can I cry



Who knew a lot could happen inside such a small round ball! (Source: http://0.tqn.com)


Listening to these reflections of my pain
Hearing these echoes of my frustrations
Will be the magic to unlocking the floodgates
Then I will cry
Then I will let it all out
These words are the ones that can cut into me
And start the bloodletting
Say them just as I have written them
Miss no line or cue or punctuation
Every letter has been put here with care
Every letter symbolizing every day I have lived with pain
Every word symbolizing the different sorrows that plague me
Every line symbolizing the years I have bottled up within
These words I could never get to say out
I have no means of release
Even as I write these lines
I feel minimal pain

From the times I have shaken my head
At the person of the Browne
The masks we humans use

From the days I have meditated
Upon the ironic portrayals of the Trent of the planet
The collective tragedies of our race

From the moments I have wondered
At the Tango’s stories of the family
The seasons of our lives

From the eternities I have sighed
At the Shard’s dirges of personal dilemmas
And the fight between humanity and divinity

And who’s to say how far we know or lack
When Julien keeps speaking from his abundance of knowledge
About how useless man’s knowledge largely is

The dark and cloudy days

Take it in step
Don’t rush the moment
Don’t drag it
Let me hear the words gradually
Let it escalate patiently kindly
Remind me of the sad state of humanity
Tell me something I didn’t know
About the depths we are exploring
Newer depths we might sink into
Deceiving ourselves it is the search for knowledge
Truth and liberation
Has the bar ever been lower
Remind me of the ridiculous drama
We all have been auditioned for
A game between fate and choice
How pathetically ironic
That we should quarrel over those two
Don’t rush it
In fact, this is where you take a pause
Avoid a premature climax
Break the progression to the peak
You’ll take it up later again



[High-pitched melodious music]

A newborn baby is born


How innocent! *sardonic snigger* (source: telegraph.co.uk)


I came into the world

Pure and innocent

Through a round, soft, most-abused road

The road travelled by all men

Both sages and fools alike

I was completely unbothered about the strange environment

I was invincible after all

And for my sake alone the universe had slowed


Then the buxom midwife raped me!

As she snatched me from my mother

And cut off that soft secure attachment

Like a sexual sadist roughened me

A patting here, a smothering there

Said she was trying to make me cry

She told my mum crying babies made her horny

She then rubbed oil all over me

Just the way she liked it

And mom looked on

She had even dared dip a dildo* into my mouth

Said she needed to suck out the mucus in my throat

I knew I saw something creamy in that sinful tunnel

Same tunnel that had traversed the road from whence I came

The sinful tunnel

Used by sages and fools alike

On the round soft road

And I could swear this cream was going into my mouth

And not coming out as she lied to my mother

I cried!!!


Mom smiled

Her baby was crying

I wish I could tell her what was happening to me


I was being defiled

I wept for what seemed like hours

Mom later told me I had cried at birth for about 50 whole seconds!




The midwife had fondled with my fragile sinless gonads

Said she was wiping off the meconium*

Is coprophilia* even real?


Finally, rest comes

God rested on the seventh day

I was settling down on the eighth day

When the doctor pulled his stunt


This paedophile called it circumcision

As he clamped my innocent sweet little hot-doggy penis

And he cut the crown of pride away

Yet he wasn’t sued


Eventually I grew older




Oh father, dear father!

“Son, once upon a time I killed a lion.

Santa Claus lives at the North Pole

God is a sky-giant-djinee who lives to grant all your wishes”




I am in for a life of lies and trials

Rape comes in different circumstances.


{To be continued…}

Word helper:

Dildo: Should mean an artificial penis, but I think what the midwife used was the regular suction tube for newborns.

Meconium: the first faeces of a newborn, usually stains the pelvis.

Coprophilia: a sexual preference for faeces. It’s a real condition. I did not make it up. Google it.

BACKGROUND: As any frequent visitor might guess, this is a bit too vulgar for my usual themes in writing.

Anyway, I stumbled upon bits of this I wrote from a while ago and it seemed very appropriate to develop and finally post. This is because of how I feel when I consider the state of humanity and planet today. I feel I must repeat: even though my writings seem mostly cynical, I actually have good thoughts regarding humanity generally. Despite these good thoughts, the sad reality is: these are critical times to bring a child into, and I wonder what I will say if I should make it to the close of this century. I wonder how starkly different the next 50 years are gonna be, in everything –science and technology, law and crime, morals and spirituality, art and entertainment, ecosystem and energy.

This very thought is heavy enough to keep awake all night tonight.

Things I see and hear at night


That scene was actually lovely. Not scary as the picture seems. My nights are like that!

Do you mean to tell me you are this old and don’t know this
You have not tasted of the spicy fruit
Those top-quality clinical-grade hallucinations
Which someone like me makes money off

I see shadows and forms
I see patterns
They speak to me these people
They tell me how life will be
They teach me wisdom and experience about existence
They teach me without using punishment
They understand me
And I hear them and listen
They teach me on my own terms
They speak with soothing voices
Like that of a virgin seductress
Good blend of innocence and sultriness
They tell me of the fragile nature of life
And of how beautiful it could be
Like a perfectly delicate thing of high value
Something as delicate as these visions themselves
Visions that could easily fade
And details that couldn’t be validated
Because they change every time I attempt to recollect them
Visions so beautiful and precious
Visions that will fade when I sleep
The beauty of that short moment of insanity that will fade
After all, beauty fades
They tell me so
These voices
They tell me beauty is temporary and fluctuating
They tell me nothing lasts forever
And I trust them because I have confirmed this in reality
And for this same reason
I also believe these same wise people
When they tell me that the neurons of my brain
All defaecate semisolid gold
And so I have to explore my mind and dig for treasures
Breaking through my rock-thick skull with a dagger
I believe them when they tell me
There is a generator working in my brain
And creative sparks fly everywhere from the neural activity
And where there is no electricity
I’ll let people connect wires to my skull
I believed them because they have proven true time and again
These same voices led me through medical school
All my good ideas have come in similar way
The voices tell me I am radioactive
They tell me I am alien
And so should not allow others see how unique I am
That I can find release by hiding in plain sight
Writing things like this
Things which could easily pass for just another regular dribble of a mad mind
And how I believe these voices
I love them
These wise people
They speak to me
In that place, that time
Between being awake and being asleep
Which some don’t know of, as old as they are
And they have never had it as real and magical
As I have them, as young as I am
These beautiful moments just before sleeping

P.S. Maybe it’s just the special ones like me who have these moments.

A Postcard From My Life


{No, it’s not the road I’m on!}

Please pray for me
I no longer know the road I’m on
It’s a long road
With so many bends I can’t see a mile ahead of me
It’s hard to see far ahead when life throws you the curves
Nothing is certain anymore
And then the winds blow and I see sandy mists here and there
There are shape-shifters and I can never tell reality from fantasy
There are mind-shifters and I can never tell right from wrong
I am straining through blood-and-sweat-smeared glasses
And all I see are shades of grey
Not greys of a thunderstormy cloud
The flood would be an exciting change
But greys that becloud my judgment and sense of morality
Greys that want to make me regret I have a sense of morality
Greys that want to make me throw away my sense of morality
Along with everything else I have lost on this long road
Thinking I’d be travelling light and simple
Unknowing that some complicated baggages
Contain some bare necessities
For an easier life-journey


Ha! There! More like it.

{This would be it!}

Pray for me on this road I’m on
I left my car a mile and week ago
There are trees here and there looking at me
They are not bothered
Are they me
Have they been called to a life like mine
Keep looking, trees
Pray for your souls
That the woodcutter may still have a son who remembers him
And so he’d never have to retake his job to earn his living
Keep looking monkeys
Called to a blissful life lounging on tree branches
Pray for your souls
May I never find a stranded and lost soul-of-a-knife
At a period I may want to have monkeysoup
I am still too far concerned about wildlife conservation
And will not harm a hair on your butts
Besides, you are my only companions
No, I do not think you beneath me
I don’t have the luxury of that complex
You can stare hard and unblinking at me all you want
So long you acknowledge
I am alone on this journey
Though we be on the same road
So long you take a minute from your busy lives
To say a prayer for me
Thank you.