Tag Archives: life


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Some would fight for love. I don’t have that as-noble-as-is-shameful aspiration. I am writing to find you. When I used to watch you write, I never quite understood it when you told me it calmed you. Well, maybe because I could not imagine you ruffled in the first instance. You said writing helped you collect your thoughts.

I don’t collect, neither am I quite collected.

I am writing to find you.

Where are you since you have been gone? Where do people like you go? Into the arms of someone else? Who can satisfy the appetites of people like you? Can even someone like you do that? I know I pushed you away. And I know the hurt in itself could drive you into the arms of another in a fit of rebound, yes? Or, are you beyond frailties? I like to think what we shared could mean so much to you to have affected you that way. Apparently, I am not beyond selfishness. Or, maybe that is the way the experience some call love ought to be. That what partly made it special was knowing that I was responsible for you and you vulnerable to me. How sick is that?

Is there any point to this? Why should I want you back? What is to stop this cycle from repeating itself again? People argue breakup-makeup cycles are bad. Others say one could learn from past mistakes and redo things better. What if the explanation is simpler than that? That we are meant to be, and part of what happens is we grow from knowing that we are bound to end up with each other again –the sense of the inevitability. That generally should make sense to you. It should comfort you that: the fact we keep ending up back together should mean that we are meant to be –the sense of predestination, certainty and rightness of decision. The proof that a force beyond natural must want us to be together.

Or, have we become an old love? The kind that just gives off smokes like a locomotive, which can never aspire to be a spaceship giving off fire. You know such crafts are not practicable on this earth’s ground where we live, right? Why not enjoy the familiarity that we have. Why not gain from growing into each other. Or, does that make us like poles which repel?

People argue a little drama now and then is good. Does breaking up sound little to you? Should one deliberately start a drama not knowing if it had the capacity to escalate into a break? How does one perfectly control the situation? Would someone in love be so calculating and manipulative of love itself no less?

I know we are generally a complicated lot as humans. We criticise some for making issues complicated. Yet we somehow deep inside enjoy complications in life. We say it makes us feel alive.

But, please, believe me when I say I want to find you. It’s not about finding love as an experience. I want you. And this desire is without complication or another shade of meaning. It is as plain as my thoughts, as my words.

It is as wonderfully calm as I feel when writing. When writing this.

Don’t make me wait forever. The waiting game does not necessarily breed passion. It can finally kill whatever spark is left.


I wait to hear from you.







It’s nice to sing that new beat
Not just when drunk on milk and beef
Or high on smoke from that roasting rabbit
Meat so deliciously lean and stiff
As we gather round the heat
All of us dancing on the cliff
Thankful that tonight life is neat
And we are spared the gliff
Spared the terror and hit
That make us tremble like a leaf
Tearing us bit by bit
Ain’t this life’s spiff
Biting us in the butt even on retreat
Never leaving like our very own reef
Driving nails into the sores of our feet
Darkening the core of all our belief
Setting up pins for us on our seat
So nauseating is this life’s whiff
Monsters parade this life’s gloomy street
Even when silent we hear them sniff
Causing terrors that make our hearts grit
These life’s fairy-demons meet us with a biff
They greet our joys with a slit
And spare us no tiff
Leaving us a ghastly bloody treat
So when we get some relief
We are thankful for the feast
Giving the Creator glory without miff
And smiling as we lie tonight each on his bedsheet

Resting In Peace!

INTROSPECTION (songs for plath)

Someone I know presented this at a book club, and something about the content made me decide to share, as I told him.

pic by_aeternum_art-d6vy5hm.jpg


My heart is a tomb where hope comes to live,

I go to parties of happiness to breathe,

I inhale all the light around me

and leave the parties when it gets dark,

too dark for men to see

without stumbling into the sadness.

Too dark to feel for lighters that lift the souls of men high.


I watch their fears colliding from a distance,

I giggle.



On quiet days

when there are no songs left in my lungs,

I write.


I like to write stories of women that died

while embracing life-


women we thought had too much of her in them

but we never cared to look beneath their skins.


On autopsy,

the pathologist said he found castles living inside them,

Castles that echoed whispers.



There are nights when I dream;


I am a bird, carrying happiness within my beak

Flying towards a nest I do not know.


I never get home.

An angry storm breaks my beak into two,

happiness dissolves into a stream of darkness.


I wake up screaming.




Prose or poetry


I can never amount to that
Like those who shamelessly
Tirelessly aspire to glory
They seek novelty among the regular

I don’t coordinate that long
My thoughts are unfaithful
Shamefully capricious
I try to write a good story
Like a famed novelist
But I don’t get a page through

Novelists are manipulative and dubious
They live for masks
They conjure strings of words
But you never see the start or end
They say it is fiction
But we know it is gossip
They say they write about human lives
But we know they write eulogies to themselves

I am as plain as you read me
See my lines
Full of little short words
That don’t even aspire to the ceiling
Look at them broken apart
I can never seem to write sentences
Long enough to fill the screen
Even when I have ideas that long
I never seem able to write a full line
I always fall short
I always walk within my mortal limits
I’m no demigod like novelists
And other citizens of the Writing Kingdom
I’m an outcast
A dribbler
A scribbler
A conman

Look one last time at my lines
The next not logically linked to the previous
I am humble
I am broken
My thoughts are as fragmented as they appear
Disjointed as my lines
Verbose and circumstantial
My imagination loose and childish
Floating like a kite in lightning
My scattered lines betray my mortality
Seeming close to paradise
But never quite making it for the life of me
Left trudging near the edge

P.S. Hope the reader knows this is not a poem.



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.