if i ran and never tripped
if i walked and never stumbled
life would be a delight
a smooth down hill glide
but then, i wouldnt be.
i.

if we stayed where we are
if we stood rooted to the ground
security curls around us
a silken bliss blinds
but then, we wouldnt be.
we.

ye ye.
thanks for being you.
always in my mind.
alive in my daily thoughts.

one walks. browses. stares.
one read between the lines.
one struggles to stitch the picture.
one pieces them together.
one disbelieving soul. me.

being physically distanced
keeps one buffered from the myraid of information
that used to beat on the shores
information exfoliation
to information exhuminisation
the snippets of backwash
reeks.

i always did well in history.
i have a penchant
for etching out history in my heart
names mean a lot to me
put a face to the name
and i am untamed
i fail to see the present
churned lost in the past
i step back many a times
to self realisation
the inflictions of history
the vicious cycles of self made history
circa 1981
sorry.you had to bear the brute.

This is our last goodbye
I hate to feel the love between us die
But it’s over
Just hear this and then I’ll go
You gave me more to live for
More than you’ll ever know
This is our last embrace
Must I dream and always see your face
Why can’t we overcome this wall
Well, maybe it’s just because I didn’t know you at all
Kiss me, please kiss me
But kiss me out of desire, babe, and not consolation
You know it makes me so angry ’cause I know that in time
I’ll only make you cry, this is our last goodbye
Did you say ’no, this can’t happen to me,’
And did you rush to the phone to call
Was there a voice unkind in the back of your mind
Saying maybe you didn’t know him at all
You didn’t know him at all, oh, you didn’t know
Well, the bells out in the church tower chime
Burning clues into this heart of mine
Thinking so hard on her soft eyes and the memories
Offer signs that it’s over... it’s over
Last Goodbye, Jeff Buckley

i still remember that day in 2000.
or rather the many days of melodrama.
thanks for making me the protagonist.
and sealing the memories. with this melody.

glimpses of the past
me lying on nana's lap
watching the underside of the carved timber beams
in the chinese temple

me sitting outside ye ye's shop
waiting for the school bus
having my constant stomache
and refusals to head to school

me walking with nana
into the hardware store
overwhelmed by the myraid wares
to choose that broom
and she bought me nice, porcelain figurines
(which i will bring back, the next time i visit)

memories. just float and takes over one.
when its the season for reunions.
i chance into the street celebrations.
i chance into the lion dance parades.
like the way, you chance and enter my dreams.
what blurs the real from the unreal
is sensory experiences.
you were alive last night,
because we didnt touch.

the rain has always been a lulluby
that carelessly coax me to a slumber
but rain didnt trickle down last night
torrents poured. like there was only a flooding.
tomorrow.
i didnt sleep that night.

the ride to walk.
resembled a trek up an off beat road
littered with the chaotic beauty
of the fallen.
a change of scene.
how delectable.
how un neglectable.
so un predictable.
many are in a predicament.

when the weather acts unreal.
when it almost seems like
losing gravity is possible
when weather is acting like itself.
unpredictable.
people question.
people startle.

"some folks lead such mundane lives
thanks to us
we add some splash & murk
in those mono tone prints" weather

weather talking
history wrenching

rain falling from concrete coloured skies
renews the spirit within the city
the scoarching sun burnt down
the winds tossed the laden earth around
we toustle our hair
we swept our faces
whilst it disintegrates with the force of life

the rain refreshes
while the limbs wrestle
to savour the moment of awakening
or to escape the lambasting of the weather

i still like concrete coloured skies.
with rain dripping through the silken grey
the beat of my life
pauses & decelerates
the eyes savour the chance
to observe. not simply having the common see.

i miss the sounds of the old zinc roofing
i miss the pulleys
the open roofs
the dripping roofs
the wet concrete floors
the overflowing sewer drains
the folding of paper boats
miss the days.
i would scribble these in my book.
miss the technological less advance days.

" i think you had more fun as a kid" 7 year old Esther said to me
sorry, i certainly did.