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DateLine Sunday, 17 February 2008

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Chasing dreams and climbing trees

I was left to the
singing of the wind chime.

One evening it chilled me
to hear the falsetto of my psyche
in a bon-fire.

Smell of the wasted 'energy'
and of a wasted life.
I fidget with my pen
but hardly write.

Melancholia must spout words.

It ditches me,
It ditches me further down;
as I try to spring up
in a vertical move.
Over and over again.

Why don't I sleep on it?
For I'm sick of chasing dreams
and climbing trees.


The lie

Now I recollect with regret,
The crude lie,
I told him,
Who had just done me,
A great favour,
As a spectral sense of guilt,
Together with astounding ambivalence,
Befogs my soul,
'I didn't mean to bamboozle him',
I try to exonerate myself,
'All I wanted was to save her, my friend,
From deep trouble...'

Yet as I mull over my imperfect exoneration,
I catch myself,
Dubitatively asking myself,
'Is it reasonable for me,
To betray the trust,
One placed in me,
To keep another's faith in me?
And isn't a lie always a lie,
Whether it is black or white?'

And my blameless little lie still hurts me,
Putting my conscience ill at ease...

And I, trying in vain
To convince myself,
Of my irreproachability,
Helplessly watch,
My emotions roller-coaster,
And feel guilt,
Alternately tightening and loosening,
Its grim grip on my soul...

****

My Motherland

(60th Independence anniversary)

I hear your deep resounding voice,
Calling for peace with no other choice,
The wounds they made painful though,
Will heal this year to your heart's core?

You moan in pain with untold woe,
Yet brave the roar of the cowardly foe;
The ghostly shadows of terror will disappear,
When you awaken to your sixtieth year?

The victorious sun rises one moment,
To console you and to ease your torment;
Brings warmth the words you mutter,
The dismal darkness will then scatter.

When your sons cry in triumphant mirth,
You would be blessed with a new era of birth;
Once you smile in glorious splendour,
I will embrace you with my heart so tender.

****

The great king

Once there was a king of the world,
His power of kindness broke the sword,
Bearer of all knowledge an wisdom,
This whole universe was his kingdom.

To equal his qualities there were none,
As to the world there is only one,
With such discipline,
And a mind so powerful and clean.

His wise teachings that prevail,
Are open for the ones who sail,
This viscous samsara and to obtain the honour,
Of attaining the sacred nibbana.

His wise disciples who follow,
The deep dhamma from the shallow,
Are the guides who give us the sight,
When the world has lost the Lord's light.

He who attained the great jhanas,
And defeated all the maras,
Entitled to all worships and honour,
He is our Gautama Samma Sambuddha.

 

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