Are we that foolish?

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?


two cracked pots bare bellies having a yarn
one whines about how he never gets mended
one whinges about his sorrow of being forgotten

the arvo sun is scotching their spilled soil
one is watching his fracture snapping further
one is shedding his tears in vain

two buttocks looking dark clouds squeezing out some rain
then the thunder shouts
‘Get your head out of your ass mate!’

two cracked pot bare bellies paying attention
one says ‘Righto! There is rain there is growth. Who gives a toss about my broken frame.’
one yells ‘No dramas! I was never your league anyway. Shove your snob up your backside!’

two months gone by
two cracked pots cheering each other
one tells of how his brokenness turns into art
one praises the contentment of thriving

the moral of the story
you know what I mean Valvoline

Divergent – Chinese Riddles

Our intimacy has no distance
Our distance increases intimacy
The intimate element is the distance
The secret of distance is intimacy



when life treating you unkind
let it be

like leaves in the river
hope and disappointment drifting all in one
if you will it will
let it be rotten and spurge again
the regrowth in nature’s hand
let it be

when love giving you pain
let it be

like candle wax dripping losing its form
if you will it will
let it be lost and rebuilt again
the clay in the potter’s hand
let it be

when the world giving you silence
let it be

like a performer on an empty stage
if you will it will
let the clapping be mute and loud again
the art in the creator’s hand
let it be