Perfect moments

Floating on a lilo, squinting to the clouds, day dreaming…

Sinking into the couch, getting lost in a book, coffee brewing…

Curling up on a soft rug, playing my favourite tracks, fire crackling…

Dangling my feet in the water, watching the fishermen, time trickling…

Digging my toes in the sand, breathing in the salty mist, wave crashing…

Leaving everything, rushing into the storm, barefoot running…

Reaching out my hand, smiling at you, a life worth living!

A village saint

I heard him singing again
amongst the birds
in the deep mountains
above the tea plantation.

Papa told me he lost his mind
to a dragon.

I saw him leading the buffalo
down the stream
dragging smoke from a pipe.

I had never waved nor smiled
too scared to lose my mind and
I was five.

Years gone by
I heard him singing no more.

Papa told me
he lost his voice to
the crows.

I watch him
dragging smoke from the pipe
like incense burning

I see angels chanting
paving the way for

Two as 1

Two acacia birds
two forests
cried out in sorrow.
In the blink of an eye
year of the wool
reunited to
the rattan knitted tree
under the milky way.
Two halves of a heart
two hearts’ desire
as one.
They survey the forest
ahead of the daybreak
nesting in the midst of clouds.
Sun rises, sun sets
their songs
echoing the land
pure as the linen
buries them
as one
when their old age

Ice n Fire

(Fire and Ice – painting by Michelle Meister )

I am an intense person

in a quiet way,

often you don’t notice

till you are in close contact,

and most people don’t get to that vicinity.

If you are dancing around the edge,

testing the temperature and atmosphere,

Don’t be!

You will get a chill,

feeling alone and morbid.

You will only pierce me with fire and flames,

the same intensity of my ice sculpted palace.

If you are expecting mashmallows, vanilla sky, warm and fussy,

Don’t be!

I am an intense person,

a Rinko waiting for Kūki to

ignite the Lost Paradise!

* A Lost Paradise is 1997 novel by Japanese author Junichi Watanabe.

Today’s News

The news broke out today

you are guilty as hell

The blood bruises boiling up in me sent my stomach to knots

My heart radiating sharp stabbing pain

The vomit choked my windpipe

The flashback was like unleashed wild beasts attacking me

tearing me to shreds

I stumbled out to the back yard

to the tree I buried the trauma

I dug with my bare hands until my nails ripped off

blood meshed into soil

The news broke out today

so as my secret



( painting by Remigiusz Dobrowolski )

I am sitting in my worn cane chair

at my grainy raw timber desk

facing this window of lost youth

hoping to glimpse the scenery

before the dusk sinking into the night.

My hair is wiry and thin

salt and pepper without the spice.

My trembling, scaly hands raising to my skull.

My strawly fingers running along the scrawny sockets

to the elongated pointed nose

to the cold shrivaled lips.

They are the same track your hands and lips travelled.

Your faces are haunting me outside the window,

one by one, your faces of disappointment, hatred, wailing, brokenhearted, unforgiving…

playing screen by screen as the scenery of

my only connection to the outside world.

Here I am, in confinement

where I confessed all my wrongdoings, misbehaving, betrayals, poisonous venom.

I repaid all these with my youth, my solitary, my self inflicted torment

until I become a bag of bones, dust to dust, ashes to ashes…

You are enough

I was sentenced to life imprisonment by love.

I came to the end of the road of self hatred.

No matter how much rain fell on me, how deep I swam in the ocean,

I could not washed off the self sabotage stains.

You drifted in as a message in a bottle.

I read you more than a message.

You are full of life and fascinating.

I read you more like a book.

To me you are an open book,

I know all the mysteries and wonders of you.

My emotions follow you around,

from childlike innocent giggles,

blushing cheeks cuteness,

to grief and lost sadness,

heart wrenching sobs.

You let me read you like a book.

A world I stumbled into where treasures were found.

A place I rest upon to call home.

With you, I am finally enough!


I crafted you

Yet you married the sky

Memories are dissipating on a broken string

The wind subsided

Yet hope is lingering

Spring has gone

Yet I am still longing

Time has written love into a song

I humm it to the edge of the world

Hauntingly intense!

A Love Story

I had a dream about a love story.

The scene was setting in the sunlit hillside overlooking the green pastures, a boy and a girl under an oak tree. She was sitting against the giant oak tree and he was lying on her lap. He was looking at her with his honey brown eyes full of admiration and love. She launched her gaze far far away to the green hills while combing her fingers through his golden curls. They were just talking softly.

This was after they made love throughout the night with unquenchable thirst and fire. She was in awe of how pure and innocent he is. He drank in her mesmerising beauty and gravitated by her inner strength.

There under the oak tree, he expressed his unfailing love for her with his passion and commitment. And yet, she was torn between her uncontrollable falling for his pureness and innocence, and the dimmest remaining logic.

I would have written on and on about how this sweet love developed and she came to her senses that he loves her unconditionally…


The reality goes like this:

It was a warm autumn day in the east coast of Australia.

An American writer had been spending a long overdue holiday in the land down under. His recent book launch was a success which funded this holiday. He always wanted to live in this land for its rich aboriginal culture and diverse landscapes. He suffers spells of blues most of his life. Wearing the sun shine and ocean breeze seemed to be helping to relieve the itchy jumper prickles.

He hadn’t felt this relaxed and free from torment of the past for a long time. He was almost feeling a tinch of lightness in the foreign land of his dream. He felt he could breathe again and he was able to think pass today to what breakfast he would like tomorrow morning.

Being a bald-headed bearded guy with tattoos, he blended in nicely with local Aussies except when he ordered his meals in a northern American accent. She instantly looked up when she heard that familiar accent and she gave him a grin. He is the type of guy who will avoid eye contacts at all cost, not because of shyness but the intensity he feels when souls colliding.

She is an Australia born Arminian recently returned from Tehran. She spent her school years and most adult life in Tehran. She learned to speak English mostly from soap operas she watched when growing up, hence the familiarity of the American accent. All her Aussie friends asked her ‘How was life in the States?’ when they first met her. She left her 22 years of life in Tehran behind with no regrets. The physical violence and mental anguish she escaped from gave her permanent scars. Although she did regain her will and power to live on in her homeland. Beautiful sunshine, warmth of the locals and the uncomplicated layback life style are assurance for her continue recovery and healing.

They hit it off from the American accent and the share benefit of the sun and ocean, to long walks to watch the sunset. There was no doubt that the attraction was instant regardless the constrain portrayed by both. Love was certainly dancing in the salt air, energising, rejuvenating and invigorating, to the souls, the minds and the mortal bodies.

Life takes unexpected turns. Love comes in a mysterious way. He felt he had just started to leave the bag of bones behind while she just started to settle in the freedom she long missed. They applied their logic and both knew love came in such an inconvenient time.

They traveled together to Uluru (Ayers Rock) to walk the same path the traditional land owners of Australia, the Aboriginal people first set foot on over 20000 years ago. They read about the Aboriginal Australian way of living, the waiting. They wait in life with patience, waiting for rain to fill the rivers, waiting for the bush to open to harvest, waiting for the young people to grow up to flourish. They let the nature guide them, never in a hurry. They listen deeply to connect with the inner springs inside them.

They were at the cross-road of their lives. The choices he made against his heart and the bitter past led to fear filled tormented living death. She was a wounded soul trampled and deprived by the one she vowed her life to. They shared the common longing for healing and restoration.

Finally when they were both standing in front of Uluru, all the questions, uncertainty, insecurity, inability, inadequacy started peeling away, fading, vanishing. Their moment of waiting and listening deeply to connect with their inner springs surfaced to a connection and bond between them. The rain drizzled on the land into the dry rivers, and the rivers overflown into one, the season of harvest, the future of flourishing.

When hope is lost is where hope is found. When love is untangible is where love is a reality.

D Day

I opened my eyes to the fiery amber morning glow. First sunrise of winter. The crisp air reminded me of The day.

That year had unusual rainfalls. We spent a day in the mountain. We rose early for a walk in the powdery rain. You started the fire by the last sip of coffee. You came to the rug where I sat, kneeling and plaited my hair. I curled up like a cat on the rug with my shoes half done up. In silence you tied my shoe laces.

We held hands and walked in the rain deep into the bush in silence. When we came back we were both sweating in chills.

I made us coffee and we sat back to back by the file on the fluffy rug. You read to me from local news to poems. Your voice and the crackling of the fire are the most memorable sounds.

The rain got heavier and we could hear the dancing rhythm on the roof. Both of us love the sound of the rain. And we met on a rainy day. I knew when we heard the rain we both thought of the first time we laid eyes on each other. We both turned around with our eyes meeting. My heart was pouncing out of my jumper and your lips landing on mine. The last sentence I heard that day was your whisper in my ear ‘ I want you.’

That day is the most glorious day of my life. I experienced the five most romantic acts in that rainy winter day. You plaited my hair, tied my shoe laces, walked in the rain with me, read to me by the fire and said ‘I want you’. I savoured every moment and every detail.

You can only contain that much happiness in one day, one life with one love. For that, we both knew that day is The day. The day we wandered off from each other knowingly or subconsciously.

We did it in silence. No formal conversation, no tears, no embrace, no good byes. We walked away in the middle of climax, in triumph, in perfection. We both knew there was never going to be another we, us and what we shared. We preserved our love and upheld its prestige.

” True love may only come once in a lifetime. But it can come once and once is more than enough.” – Fawn Weaver