Here you are, abandoned, stranded
Your hopes now fallen to the ground
Barely breathing: drowned, defeated
Your ardent dreams, once skyward bound
Have all defected: sad, bereft
Buried under tortured ground
Your turgid vessel jilted, cleft:
There is nothing, nothing left.
#583 On This Portapotty Existence
Glassy-eyed, we walk past these corridors,
Chasing numbers across our yawning days.
A hamster’s hunt through the glass doors
Of swanky corporate offices, scurrying past
Our portapotty cubicles, our diurnal homes,
Like defeated castle gnomes, downcast,
Eking out one final groan, one final chase.
What kind of life is this? Who made this so?
How did we submit to this existence?
We who are made in His image, we who know
Better - we who are mirrors reflecting His Magnificence?
#581 On The Game That Was Lost
What was the meaning
Of all that strife? We were bound
To lose from the start.
#503 On The Unsheathed Sword
You shirk the task with nonchalant reply
This menial duty far beneath your grace
And so I take it on myself to try
The task dispatched away with heedful haste
No pointing blame, but this I shall remark
My sword, unsheathed, awaits the next lit spark.
#466 On Playing the Part
“I am just way too old for this,” he thought
Reflecting sourly on the duties thrust
Upon his head, (their value close to naught),
And yet he knows to undertake he must
With every crown comes need for player’s art
To bear with empty pomp and play the part.
#441 On Lemminghood
Like lemmings we march
Off the cliff of obeisance
Into oblivion.
#426 On Curses
I curse you.
I curse you for the smearing of our good names.
For your insinuations.
For your callous determination, to destroy our good works.
For your cowardice, in hiding behind the veil of power
to push us off the precipice.
I curse you, in this blessed month of Ramadan.
May your aims all go awry.
May your works crumble into ash.
May your evil doings find their way back to you,
transmuted into evils committed unto you.
May the miseries you inflict on others,
be heaped unto you in series a millionfold.
I curse you, and may God curse you too.
#421 On My Pocketful of Prayer
In silent hours of early morn I wait
As coming dawn presages Life’s rude trials
I lie awake, regarding Fortune’s bait
These dwindling hours deride my fraught denials
I must away to face Life’s ruthless glare
No sword, no shield, just pocketful of prayer.
#415 Tentang Jentera Perkhidmatan Awam
Dari turus hingga ke dasar
Berdayungan gerak sederap
Walau riuh gempita gegar
Utuh arah tiada tersangap.
#404 On Thriving Beyond the Quicksand of Doubt and Error
With eyes aflint you gaze at the night sky The future brews behind dark taunting clouds Against the odds and jeers you try and try You mark your path against the doubting crowds Beholding you enfirms my faith in Dreams To dare to thrive beyond our daily seams.