Rancid Well

People drew essence
from his existence
They felt nourished
by every drop of him

Hopes and dreams
inspired his giving
He thought
wisdom never ran dry

Then doubt rained heavily
and filled his heart
overflowing with uncertainty
He started to speak
stale words

His well of knowledge and wisdom
turned rancid
People were wearied of his speech
and flet from his presence


An ocean corroded sandstone – Photo by Cassa Bassa at Clontarf Beach, Sydney, Australia

Your face tells a thousand stories.
The folds of your skin
capture every storm you endured.
In between,
there are records of victory
and triumph.

New generations keep rising up
to take up the challenge.
You stepped back tide after tide
until you no longer
protect them
at the front line,
instead you watch over them
in prayer.

We look to you for wisdom.
Your face is the evidence
that history doesn’t lie.
If we say
that you are only a stone,
we are fools
beyond the reach of gods.

It Takes Little To Be Happy

My cat Franis on his throne set on top of a mattress among the apartment repair mess
Animals and children teach us lessons
They find their sanctuary in the midst of chaos
Joy is not depending on the external condition
They are happy when they see the world from a safe place

Yesterday No More

Once upon a time
she would let people
drown her rice paper self esteem
with boastful spits.

she tries to reconcile
with her past no more
because dwelling on
what was once before
is a complete waste of life.

She only wants to leave
ample trace of
joy and healing.


She never understood
why did he despise her
for her different approach
to life
the same life
they so happened to share

He couldn’t comprehend
why was she dissatisfied
with this way of living
the same way
his parents lived

They were told
by an elder
before their wedding day
that they shall leave
their family history behind
to unite into a new family
of their own

When they heard of wisdom
they couldn’t comprehend it
Just hope that
they eventually become wiser
from their lived experience

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


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