Infinity

When you mix your dreams

You get a glow of shadowing glory

Skimming in awe

A splurge of dancing imagination

When you mix your dreams with mine

You are transfigured in

The excitement of my thoughts

Incorporated with yours

Flying and dismissed in an illusion

Gliding in the black shadow with

Silver wings

Gaze deep into my eyes

And drown in absolute ecstasy

Dreaming is far from real

And nothing is real

In a world of illusion

We only see what we feel

Dreaming is pure mental energy 

Empowered by only you

Dream with me to infinity

So we can see the sun

Dip into the horizon

The Writing Process

I grew up with books. 

I’m grateful I did. My mum took me to school fairs and church bazaars, where, we would pick out second hand books for fifty cents or perhaps a dollar (for the hard covered ones) and if I were lucky I’d be blessed with a brand new book from a book store in town.

I started writing during my time in high school when I was 14 and I stopped when I turned 21, which were a few months after my mother’s passing. 

During English classes, after dinner, or on lazy Sundays, I would find a pen, open my scrap book and write to my heart’s content. I would then rip it out of the scrap book and clip it in a file which I had picked at a seven-eleven nearby in our neighbourhood.

It was a multi-colored file. The different sized pages and ripped paper with markings and untidy hand writing was a justification of mere inspiration from simple observations like, when the day began, a song I heard on the radio or a scene I would have sketched in my mind. I kept that file in my bag and took it to school and when I finished high school, I took that file when I flew overseas for the very first time. 

I brought the file back with me upon my return and this time with new stories and worthy of note moments during my overseas stay.And what I would write about, you might ask. Well, of many things - poetry, stories, of rubber bands, trees, caterpillars and death. I wrote whatever came into my mind. You see, words are very powerful and at that particular time in my life, I loved bringing those words to life.

By August 2001, I tucked it away in a cupboard among other odds and ends only after I realised I could not write anymore. I could not get myself to pick up the pen and even if I did I would stare at the page and it would stare back at me.

I moved on and my life moved on from that file.  My thoughts never mentioned it to me. Not until, seven years after, when I found it in a pile of text books and random reading material.

How odd?

Bizarre even. I swear I would have lost the file after all those years. I read through it, several times and smiled to myself whilst reading the words which I conjured into paragraphs and then into pages. I didn't realise how bitter, angry and distraught I had become at that point in time of my life.

After reading, the file went back into its place, away from the world. It was only until March 2010 and after when I picked up the file (yet again tucked away but this time I had intended to put it some where perceptible) and read the contents.This time, I decided that I would complete what I had started.

Not everyone is able to leave money, jewelry or land as an inheritance for their children. Everyone though, can leave the most precious commodity of all – memories in the form of words.

Gone

Sitting on daddy’s couch

Thoughts are raining, raining down on me

She picks up her bags

Says no goodbye

Picks up her car keys

Looks back with a sigh

He waits on the front seat

Smiling with ease

Read me a story

Just one more please

Door slams behind her

An engine starts

Left with ghosts

And faint remarks

Up in my room

A hug becomes a need

And they've left me alone

In a dark room to bleed

Journal Thoughts

As I look back on life I realize the things I once held on to so tightly were just “things” and the people I once put upon a pedestal…are just “people”.

We are all the same. We have all been ushered into this world, initially, with a purpose. From the moment we are born, lives change, choices are made that affect our existence as we know it.

Mistakes? I have made many...but I have lived wildly, loved deeply and laughed much. My past haunts, my future beckons and I am thankful to be blessed with a rich and fulfilling life that has led me to this end…not an end filled with sadness and remorse but one filled with forgiveness, renewal and hope for tomorrow.

Every human in this universe is bestowed with mental and physical energy the quantum of which however varies amongst them as per age, gender, race, and region etc.

I have that mental energy which has allowed me to be who I am today.

The Hymn

This is one of the most beautifully pieced words I have lived to experience at my grandmother’s and mother’s funeral. It is one of those songs which have a depth of emotions and sadness but at the same time distinct hope. It brings tears to my eyes every time I hear it.

History says that this is a 19th century Christian hymn by Sarah Flower Adams, based loosely on Genesis 28:11–19 the story of Jacob's dream.

Genesis 28:11–12 can be translated as follows:

“So he came to a certain place and stayed there all night, because the sun had set. And he took one of the stones of that place and put it at his head, and he lay down in that place to sleep. Then he dreamed, and behold, a ladder was set up on the earth, and its top reached to heaven; and there the angels of God were ascending and descending on it”

Nearer, my God, to Thee, nearer to Thee!

E'en though it be a cross that raiseth me;

Still all my song shall be nearer, my God, to Thee,

Nearer, my God, to Thee, nearer to Thee!

Though like the wanderer, the sun gone down,

Darkness be over me, my rest a stone;

Yet in my dreams I'd be nearer, my God, to Thee,

  

There let the way appear steps unto heav'n;

All that Thou sendest me in mercy giv'n;

Angels to beckon me nearer, my God, to Thee,

Then with my waking thoughts bright with Thy praise,

Out of my stony griefs Bethel I'll raise;

So by my woes to be nearer, my God, to Thee,

Or if on joyful wing, cleaving the sky,

Sun, moon, and stars forgot, upwards I fly,

Still all my song shall be, nearer, my God, to Thee,

A sixth verse was later added to the hymn by Ed­ward H. Bick­er­steth, Jr. as follows

There in my Father’s home, safe and at rest,

There in my Savior’s love, perfectly blest;

Age after age to be, nearer my God to Thee. 

Your New Beginning

What is the value of a new beginning?

To choose a path that is completely different from others

What is the purpose of a strong mind?

To withstand all the grave danger that pushes one to a corner?

What is the sense of gravity?

That makes you grounded and stand firm in what you believe in?

What is the reason for wars and bombs?

When the world will end anyway?

But I ask you

What is your sole purpose on this earth in this life?

To make a difference to others

Or

To change the way others think?

He

Came once in a dim autumn night

With the deep crimson of roses

Gently laid them by my feet

And half I smile and half I weep

Closing my thoughts with his

For me he stopped to look around

Then wrote my name onto the ground

I thanked him with a smile

Parting sadly with the last kiss

No grace was felt or any pain

We stood as stones in the fallen rain...

Helpless

Scream out FIRE!

Guys running down the driveway

Their future was young, but it

Swallowed them alive

What fun it used to be

Hanging out

By the pool parlour

Their fragile lives

Chances thrown

Overthrown by a domineering power

They came from their villages,

But woke up to shattered dreams

One t-shirt reads “tabu soro” and they did

Smoking under the street light

Choking all fire lights

It took them 18 years to get this far

They sit

Bury heads in hands

Crying

End Note:

This was written during the Coup of 2000. I remember rioting and looting, whilst sitting at the back of the TV company vehicle which I worked for, (my first job after my return from my New Zealand trip). Curfews were placed and there was this notion of helplessness.

I remember going to the public hospital, trying to find medical supplies for my mother and as I walked towards the old grand hospital, I saw on the streets a group of young men possibly running away from the looting, some were limping, some moaning in pain, some bleed profusely. They had visible fresh cuts and bruises on their bleeding faces and arms. It inspired me to write about how young people can be so naïve and so ignorant. Perhaps they are going through an experience which may change their lives later.

 

You Know

You know that you’re only here because you wanted to.

You arrived at your destination one day at a time; you held your breath still

But tried your very best not to slip and not to fall

But you did
You slipped 
and 
you did fall

But you got up with a silenced vigour,
unrestrained tears running down your cheek

Helpless yet hopeful
Bitter yet sweet

You know you made it
You know
You are here not only because you wanted to

But 
you 
endured...

Thoughts

September 1999

What is the purpose of a strong mind?

to withstand all the grave danger that pushes one to a corner?

What is the sense of gravity?

that makes you grounded and stand firm in what you believe in?

What is the reason for wars and bombs?

when the world will end anyway?

But I ask you

what is your sole purpose on this earth in this life?

to make a difference to others

or

to change the way others think?

The Stranger

When I was working at the power company in 2002 in the city, I used to walk past an old man on crutches everyday, on my way to work, in the morning and in the afternoons. This man, (and I say this because I don't see him around now) not so often, is a wonderful old man. He has twinkling eyes and the most welcoming smile as if nothing could ever disappoint him.

I’m quite sure he has children who are probably (insensitive and insincere) because he would come across to me as a wonderful father. He acknowledges me as his ‘beta’ or son and after our brief conversation about how busy the city is or hot it has been, he’d smile at me and say, ‘God bless you and have a good day’. Despite his unfortunate circumstance (he has an amputated left leg) he stands at the same spot by the newspaper stand everyday, watching the hustle and bustle of the busy street. He’s a wonderful man and his smile is a pat on my back and an encouragement to appreciate life.

Rising Above

Feel the oceans raise

You keep rising above them

Spin your board around

Waves so huge

At a radical speed

And you flow with the ripples

Paddle hard

Push that soul

Cutback the weight in your pocket

And reach your goal

Go fast

Visit the undersea tubes

Flick out

Smile

You rule

HORIZON

Pay attention to your dreams -

God's angels often speak

directly to    

          our hearts when     

                  we are

    asleep.

Quoted in The Angels' Little Instruction Book by Eileen Elias Freeman, 1994

The Silent Visitor

June 2001

My second cousin (once removed), long brown haired Melissa spent a few nights at home during and after the funeral. She was one of those cousins, whom you seem to get acquainted with at birthday parties or other unfortunate family gatherings. Our mothers introduced us a few months prior to mum’s illness. A real bunny she is.  Well, that’s what I call her, Bush Bunny, I suppose at some time in our life we all were.

It was another one of those long, long afternoons which then turned into a long night. The sun fell suddenly and the night sky took over.  It was indeed a night I wanted to stretch my hands and legs out as far as I could possibly reach, exhaustion has settled in. There were about thirty odd visitors, friends and other people whom I could not even imagine to spend a minute talking, who had congregated, some in the living room, some in the kitchen (the women mostly) and the men having kava outside on the veranda.

“When will they leave?” I thought to myself, smiling outside my teeth as I past them by. Melissa played the happy hostess and my brother ignored every single moment and walked off to the nearby pool parlour to accommodate his boredom.

Three whole nights in a row, the reverend had given a powerful message about grief, death and all that sort of subjects to anticipate during a funeral.

I sat in the living room and waited for all the people to leave. The silent whispers and chattering, clicking of tea-cups was giving me an unbearable migraine. It was only after ten thirty or so when everyone started to leave.

And they did, one at a time, a kiss on the cheek here and a pat on the back there. Every gesture seemed so uniformed, so fake.

We were all exhausted, Dad retired to bed immediately, Melissa and I shared my room and my brother decided to watch a movie in the living room.

Before he settled to a rattly DVD, Rainal decided to kiss me goodnight and tucked me in. We were relieved that would the last night we saw people. At least the ones that mattered were with us at that moment.

Within the next half an hour, Melissa and I were dead to the world.

The smell of a new morning was refreshingly welcoming. I lay in bed, looking at the roses which hung from my ceiling, thinking about the bizarre dreams I had the previous night.

Melissa woke up, yawning, but looking bright eyed and bushy tailed.

“I didn’t know I was asleep until I woke up”, she said stretching. Did that statement even make sense? Rainal was called into the room to justify her thoughts that exact moment. I smiled. Melissa had that effect on me. 

Rainal came into the room. He looked even more tired and drained from the previous day, for the two most obvious reasons, he played Worms Armageddon all night or watched DVDs.

He sat on the edge of the bed. Just as he did so, Melissa threw a pillow at him.

“Was it you who decided to peek into the room while Jos and I were sleeping? You almost woke me up. But I think you were actually checking on Jos because I smiled and looked away and then you smiled and kept looking over me”, she said still yawning.

“O…K,” was his reply.

Melissa and I sat up. We anticipated what to hear next.

“Last night”, Rainal continued in a slow voice, “Dad woke up, startled. He walked into the sitting room and began putting his shoes on. He looked pale yet excited. He said he could feel mum in the house and was following her out. I thought he was sleep walking and tried to snap him out of it but he seemed so adamant to walk out of the door”

A cold shiver ran down my spine. I clutched Melissa’s hand that instant.

“What time was this?” she asked. 

“Maybe at about two”, he replied. “I thought I heard something fall in your room and that’s when I saw dad in the living room.”

I jumped leant over my bed and looked on the floor. My pink swatch was lying on the floor, clock face down. The items on the dresser remained unstirred.

I picked up the watch. There was a sudden silence in the room as I looked at the time on the watch. The clock looked back at me. The hands were stiff still and not a movement was made from the clockwork.

The clock showed 2:13

The Mentor

The Mentor

Clearly, when you take the journey of life, you must have a mentor; or at least someone like it.

Who is life’s greatest mentor? Someone who can advocate your beliefs, a trusted friend, counselor or teacher? I should change the title to mentors as I have met a lot of people who have taught me something or the other.

In the case of this, there is one person I would like to channel this out to. I won’t name this individual because even this person is still in the process of learning. What I learnt from her was time heals and patience brings good things. I hope she is able to apply this to herself though as much as I have.

The other person has played a very imperative role in my life. Perhaps for this I have been able to understand why things happen for the reason that they do. As much as I would love to name this person, I don’t think it would be necessary considering the elements involved. I will however thank the person for whatever I have learnt as we walked the spectacular journey at a certain period in our lives together.

FLY...Further



Putting all planets in line with my height

Everything that comes my way

I take

I yearn for more

I adore my lyrical ability

Despise my own brilliance even

Silent Things

When cold rains fall,
the silent things burry all

When the screaming winds pass by

The silent things hold still

These are the silent things

Not satellites

Not fireflies

Not candle lights

But

Time

Stars

Snow

Sunset

Night

Dreaming

[I wrote this sometime in September 1998, guess I was bored]

I had a dream

where I,

Invented a car which ran on strawberry ice-cream,

Climbed Mount Everest with just my cat to keep me company,

Sneezed every time and a gold coin fell out of the sky,

Could walk upside down,

Could talk to snails,

Was a paper towel in the kitchen,

Was dreaming and I never woke up only until I realised I was being held hostage by three little green men in my head,

Then I woke up.

About Sketches

Man, I love a good sketch. I always have.

They are very under appreciated because they are done so quickly. But I think a sketch implies a deeper understanding of the subject than a finished piece. The object of any drawing ought to be to communicate the subject to the viewer as simply and completely as possible. A sketch can do all that and at the same time it brings life to the drawing that is often missing from a finished piece. 

I am not an artist. I have however, doodled endlessly on several occasions that I considered pure boredom. Whilst piecing the puzzles of putting this book together, I realized this book needed more then just words. 

Pictures explain the writing.

The beauty is that it need not depict the exact words read, but helps to visualize the writing and capture the message or theme in the reader’s own thoughts.

The Clutter Bug

Clutter usually sneaks in slowly. Then you remember what is in the cupboards. You see piles of magazines everywhere. Bits and pieces of odds and ends, this and that. Old clothes you never wear. Glasses and plates that no one uses. Jam jars that will never be filled again. Well, you know how it is.

Have you heard of that saying - the stuff you own ends up owning you.

So true. If your house is too full of trinkets and things, you feel begin to uncomfortable there, you tend to feel a negative energy overcome you the minute you walk into that cluttered room. It becomes a challenge to stay in a positive attitude when you feel like you suffocate with all that stuff around.

The clutter bug - it’s all his damn fault. He makes you do it. He makes you collect and pile. He makes you hold on to all those old memories which become so extremely impossible throw away and let go. In the end, you compromise your liberated space and your unbounded sanity just because you look at an old boot and say, aw, I bought this at a garage sale when Mrs. Smith was moving. This bloody clutter bug!

I know. Horrendous it is to feel you can move in your own space. Then one day I simply decided to do something about it.

Still, organizing clutter felt too big a task when I looked around. But then, I remembered something. I remembered something I was told as a child. One step at a time and to list it down, tick it off as you go along.

Good idea. I took a notebook, and made a list. I gave title at the top of the page, calling it Throwing it Away on the first page. Then on the empty pages, on top of each page, I wrote the name of the room. And under that all the places in the room that needed cleaning.

Let´s take my bedroom doomed to clutter, for example. My list read.

- wardrobe: 1 shelf a day
- old makeup
- books
- book shelf
- clean all horizontal surfaces
- clean all vertical surfaces

What a doable process! You can only imagine the whole process was now in small, pieces and it doesn’t feel overwhelming anymore. I don’t feel overwhelmed. And as I completed my tasks, I ticked them off as I went along.

Try it yourself. If you don´t have time to go through the whole house, take one room. Make a list of all the places that need your attention in that room. And decide to do one thing a day from your list. And once you have cleaned a spot, stop piling things there anymore. Organizing clutter clears your mind too.