Life is fragile when we think it will go on.
Do things you always want to do and you don’t need to be ready.
Go places you always want to be without planning.
See people you want to see just because.
Say I love you to someone special and not worry if you hear it back.
Life is fragile and you live it as intended.
We are more isolated
we are closer than ever
we are so lonely
we are so close to someone
we are filled with joy
to be connected with someone
the cold and lonesome train track
lies in wait for her lovers
only to pass by
no tears no aches
for a steel and iron heart
just allowing them
to trample all over her
gone and returned
again and again
the wear and tear on them
the train wrecks
the track lies in wait
without a heartbeat
we had a discussion today
when we are hurt
do we tell the person that
we are hurt
do we sit in silence
wait for the person to come around
to realise in their own time
it may take years
a life time
even to the grave
we are no longer
imprisoned in our anger or rage
in response to hurt
the finally healing
does only come from
righting the wrongs
chicken or egg first?
love or sex first?
chicken gives birth to an egg
love gives birth to sex
the birth of an egg is like a flash
comparing the coming of a chicken
the moment of sex is temporal
while love is infinite
it’s tragic if a chicken bears no egg
so is love barren in the absence of sex
the world is never in darkness
except the brief moment of an eclipse
light never sleeps
except the brief moment of intermission
we are soaked in so much of its glory
we are actually in awe of its disappearance
we overlook so many blessings
to focus on the specks of trouble
like we speculate the blood moon
Wouldn’t it be easier to love than to hate?
Why do we spend so much energy and amount to self destruction?
Hate eats us up from inside out.
Wouldn’t it be better to forgive and let go?
Who will take notice of our sourness other than our own taste?
Unforgiveness tastes as bitter as hell.
Wouldn’t it be wiser to give the power to the Judge?
What do we hope to achieve by staining our own hands with blood?
Judgement exposes us to the most harsh sentence.
Do we really desire to be hatful, unforgiving or judgemental?
Don’t we all know these are steep hills for the fools?
Poets are like clowns sometimes
We painted beauty out of wasteland
Clowns expressed humour from despair Sometimes
born lacking of a physique for speed
agreed to a race with
a born to run anxious jumpy stick
winning the race was
not by luck
nor by strategy
purely by being one’s self
failure is not guaranteed
to realise that is
an identity affirmation
success is not guaranteed
to accept that is
an achievement in itself
I always thought
penguins are fish
I found out
penguins are birds
I become more careful
by their behaviours