we gasp
we frown
we say “God, help those poor children!”
yet we stood
frozen
licking our haagen-dazs
did nothing
and let lie
these innocent kids
with bare ribs
left at the corner
sleeping annexe
that garbage heap
.
.
.
.
.
.
the ugly we.
.
.
.
we gasp
we frown
we say “God, help those poor children!”
yet we stood
frozen
licking our haagen-dazs
did nothing
and let lie
these innocent kids
with bare ribs
left at the corner
sleeping annexe
that garbage heap
.
.
.
.
.
.
the ugly we.
.
.
.
Trees cannot grow under continuous rain. Life begins after
it stops and little buds began to flower under the sun. So
therefore too much of teaching does not make a child grow.
Give your views a chance to sink in and let the child trod
happily on the puddle. Let them slip and fall and they will
grow. With smiles on their faces..
.
.
.
when we turn over a fallen leaf and
the veins appear weak before our eyes
does that mean that we are ageing
or is the leaf ageing before our eyes?
.
when we turn away our memories
as what lies ahead fog before our eyes
does that mean that we are weakening
or is the page leafing before our eyes?
.
.
.
three bins
.
one for glass
one for plastic
one for paper
.
hmm I said
then thought
for awhile
.
three bins only?
.
hmm I smiled
then released it
from my fingers
.
.
.
it went onto the floor
.
.
.
.
.
.
my ice cream stick.
.
.
.
this mad surge about power is
uncannily similar to sperms
knocking each other off for the
ultimate prize..
.
.
.
being born could sometimes
be equated as an accidental
emergence inside a slaughter
house and there I was clamped
and moving along with the
conveyor belt shouting and
screaming but no one heard
.
.
except three birds..
.
.
.
Thank You. I know Jesus died for
us. The rest doesn’t. They either
curse or weep.
.
.
.
Unlike authors, most painters don’t even know
they got famous. So if you want to be certain of
your fame before your dying day, don’t say I
didn’t tell you so. Write.
.
.
.
Comparing Hirst, Rothko and Pollock,
I guess Dali is the only one painting.
the rest are just decorators..
.
.
.
you don’t recall
but I do
of how our oilfields
were once plundered by you
yet it is you
that scissors the red ribbon
in initiating a sea of blue
.
you don’t remember
but I do
of how our skies
were once so blue
yet you giggle yourself silly
as you cruise through your fleet
of red oxygen spas
.
you don’t believe
but I do
that heaven only lives
in our mind so blue
but hell
is all around us
where your red paint drips..
.
.
.
the nights are cold
the winds they blow
are you wearing those mittens
that I gave to you?
are you wearing those mittens
that I gave to you?
are you wearing those mittens
that I gave to you?
.
.
.
Large paintings is like our own personal
garden where one ponders around in
privacy, appreciating the serenity taking
shape before one’s eyes, being surprised
by the unexpected bloom hidden within it.
.
Small paintings are different. They lend a
special touch. They are like a personal
friend. They talk to you, they walk with you.
.
.
.
Why do women always accuses men of betraying?
I thought it had been proven that the male specie
cannot multitask?
.
.
.
and perhaps all the ruins that man
discovers deep in the interiors are
but remnants of a civilization not
lost but abandoned in favor of
basic needs~ growing tails whilst
developing strong shoulders and
arms to help them swing from
tree to tree..
.
.
.
man withers man
while God watches
and gasp in wonder..
.
.
.
The mysteries of God are made up of steps. If you can
open up your mindset, so can you climb up and the
truth shall be revealed to you petal upon petal. But as
you climb up rung after rung, you will discover that
the air above gets thinner and thinner and that there
will be fewer and fewer people who could relate to your
mindset and you are going to be lonely looking for
acceptance~ searching for that needle in the haystack
who could look at issues both ways and be your friend.
If you cannot accept that, you can always go back to the
first rung but those who had remain in comfort forever
will only leave you in despair. And eventually you vacate
because you know that you don’t belong there anymore
while grieving for them. And that is how hermits are made.
.
.
.
This world is going to survive longer if each of us mutually
respect each others religion and rights to live. If governments
cannot do it and is in fact exploiting it pitting one against
the other for their own selfish benefit, then we have got to do
it. Either that or we have to denounce religion completely.
You choose..
.
.
.
it is earth hour everyday
in many peoples lives..
.
.
.
it is painful
to walk barefooted
in this world.
.
.
.
I caved in
to the silence
of the cicadas
unwittingly waving
at the shadows
that peer through the
slivers of grass
or am I alive
or dead to the call
of the living?
.
it is lonely
where I dip
paddling to keep up
with the carps
tossing messages
into the river
in little capped bottles
hoping that
the living shall
read it?
.
and I may be alive
or I may be dead
but at least
my soul does not
live in disguise
nor are they
lonely
or weary
to the call of the living
which I dread..
.
.
.
God is not hidden in the garden, God, he is the garden and the garden His womb.
Where dawn first shone, man was molded out of God’s clay and breathed, after
being fed the breath of life. And man thus danced in glory to His own image and
likeness and so it was that man walked, then ran after seeing his own image
reflected in the pools of God. Man lived in His garden amongst tall trees and huge
crevices for shade and protection and man lived off the garden which fends his
hunger and thirst but man again ran in fright, on seeing strange shadows
imitating his like. And man hurdled beyond the limits of His horizon~ when man
couldn’t recognize the He that spoke from the small bushes and fervents..
.
God is not hidden in the garden, God, he is the garden. The garden that meets
mans eyes and from it sprung mans hearts. And if man is truly the reflection of
God himself, then the reflection of man is the garden itself. And if man tends to
the garden with the same spirit and love that God forms man, then man took care
not only of his own well-being but that of the spirit of God. For God did not make
himself beyond man’s reach, but man chose to reach Him beyond their own
understanding of God that is the garden. And in His garden, there were two
comfort leaves. One He covered Adam, the other Eve..
.
.
.
the wheels of spring
will churn once more
when winter fades
and icy shrapnels
fall like water..
.
.
.
love is beyond the reach of many
but there are also many
who has reached beyond love
let us all remember them on this
special day dedicated to love..
.
.
.
veyouiloveyouilo youiloveyouilove
ouiloveyouiloveyouilove veyouiloveyouiloveyouil
oveyouiloveyouiloveyouilove veyouiloveyouiloveyouilovey
iloveyouiloveyouiloveyouiloveyouiloveyouiloveyouiloveyouiloveyou
iloveyouiloveyouiloveyouiloveyouiloveyouiloveyouiloveyouiloveyou
loveyouiloveyouiloveyouiloveyouiloveyouiloveyouiloveyouiloveyo
oveyouiloveyouiloveyouiloveyouiloveyouiloveyouiloveyouilovey
youiloveyouiloveyouiloveyouiloveyouiloveyouiloveyouilo
oveyouiloveyouiloveyouiloveyouiloveyouilovey
iloveyouiloveyouiloveyouiloveyou
oveyouiloveyoui
ilo
.
.
you are the pillow of my dreams
in my dreams you are the pillow
.
.
.
if we don’t talk about
~ peace ~
there won’t be any war.
.
.
.
Words written can sometimes be misconstrued.
Unpleasant words that create unpleasant rows or
situations especially should always be discarded,
erased, as they give hurt and are not worth
cherishing. Friendship is different. Friendship unites
borders. Friendship should be cherished. Not
discarded nor erased at our whims and fancies..
no matter how lightfooted we are
trodding inside a dark and unfamiliar
alley, we might accidentally trod on
some sleeping cats or hit a can and
in the end earn its wrath..
.
.
.
our relationship and attachment with this world depends
entirely on our relationship and attachment with its people
and of how they relate and attach themselves to the world
by their relationship and attachment with its people.
.
.
.
I can’t hear
melody in my home
I can’t see
love in a barren land
except
for the pitter-patter
of a young girl’s footstep
doodling her hopes and
dreams in little canvases
for company
with tears in her thoughts
.
I can’t feel
harmony in your tone
I can’t smell
roses with your demands
except
for the murmur
of a sweet girl’s prayer
pinning doodles with
artful hearty messages
outside the door
to my heart
.
I can’t..
.
.
.
A true encounter with God is the closeness one feels knowing God is
always by their side and when two or three are gathered by His name,
there He will be. Therefore all the special effects worshipers desire to
enhance their so-called spiritual experience is unnecessary. These
worshipers are merely waddling on the surface of a very deep pond..
.
.
.
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