(25) Beauty
How true that beauty is only skin deep!
So true when no stone is unturned to keep
The wrappings look appealing despite the inside.
Yes paint it, pump it and pull it hard so tight
Till wrinkles vanish, cheeks smooth as boiled eggs.
Years may vanish, if you overlook the bags
That hide insidiously behind the ear.
What price for beauty? And how many a tear?
Such shallow beauty, such paper mache
Attracts only in a superficial way
Those undiscerning eyes without a mind,
Which’s needed to perceive the soul, and find
The deep and quiet virtue, whose sweet voice
And vision charm the prudent and the wise.
What if the cover is not gold-laced or silk
If the content sooths the soul like mother’s milk?
The two kinds of beauty don’t need to exclude
Each other: the old master’s paintings include
The passions and feelings of the painter’s soul,
And the inner beauty of the subjects as well.
The true ideal of beauty should be sought
In one equally beautiful inside and out.
I have found such ideal of beauty in you,
From whom truth, beauty, wisdom jointly flow.
(26) The Flight
A strong air current: please fasten seatbelt.
All passengers tied down like peas in a pod.
And soon this flying peapod will touch down
In dear old Melbourne Town.
Once landed, the pod opens to free the peas,
And each to his own destination proceeds;
Some fall by the roadside and some into farms.
I will roll straight into your arms.
Returning see familiar landscape unfold,
Bringing new memory added to the old.
To transport dreams, I will fly to and fro,
To build a palace just for you.
(27) The Festive Season
Time flies by, soon will be the end of year.
Christmas is coming and the Yule Tide’s near.
Last minute rush for frantic shopping sprees
To buy gifts for friends and for enemies,
For expedience sake. Wild rush on boxing day
To pick up bargains for next Christmas day.
Year in year out this carousel rotates,
And each to his own liking celebrates.
The alcoholics drink more for Christ’s sake;
The junkies look for extra dope to take;
And wanton souls destroy their bodies with lust.
They cheer for being closer to biting the dust.
To me each day’s the beginning of a year
Filled with fair vista clear of woe or fear.
Each morn you greet me in your cheerful way
With: Happy NewYear, and a lovely day.
When church bells chime I thank angels of God
For sending Kylie to show me Heaven’s road.
(28) The Store
Outside this store there is a bigger store,
Outside which an even bigger one than that.
Entire cities are super stores. Furthermore,
The world’s the biggest of them all, yes mate.
They’re like gift boxes one within another,
Or ivory balls, the big contain the small,
Or Ptolamy’s concentric spheres for stellar
Orbits around our earth, the centre of all.
I move from the biggest to the smallest store
In my mind, through many a door and turnstile;
Then move from shop to shop many times more,
To finally find something to make you smile.
(29) The Burden
When things are hard, the going’s getting tough,
Feel like abandon all, don’t give a stuff.
A Stoic at heart, life’s ups and downs I’ll take
In a stride, if all I do is for my own sake.
Deep down I know I have a cross to bear,
Not to save sinners or allay their fear.
I know what I have to endure in view
Of the project to build heaven on earth for you.
What if the world collapses around me and
Everyone on it? Then it’s in God’s hand.
Should this take place in my own universe,
I’ll carry it like Atlas, ‘cause it’s yours.
Is then my burden too heavy to carry alone?
Because of you it’s light like a balloon.
The thoughts of you have buoyed my spirit high,
And give me wings to take me to the sky.
Thus night and day your love urges me on
To reach my destination and be strong.
My sweat and tears are perfume to my nose,
Because it’s labour of love, and Heaven knows.
(30) How Do I Love You?
My love for you
Is without reservation,
Without calculation,
And without suspicion.
My love for you
Is full of consideration,
Full of consolation,
And full of admiration.
What do I want in return?
Absolutely nothing.
What do I get from it?
Every thing.
I’ve got Heaven and Earth,
Which are filled with your soul.
I’ve got sweet dreams of you,
Every night.
A love like this needs no reason,
Which belongs to philosophy.
A love like this keeps no ledger,
Which belongs to accountancy.
What do I hope from such a love?
I hope you are always happy and well.
I hope my love can contribute some good..
I hope against hope one day you’ll love me somehow.
(31) Contemplation
(31) Contemplation
Sweet contemplation, balm to sooth the soul,
Be it on God, truth, beauty or high art,
Or even on darker matters and thoughts foul.
The sweetest contemplation flows from the heart.
Sweet music, poetry and philosophies
Grow quietly, spontaneously and free
In the serene garden of mental peace,
And great religions were born under a tree.
But why should love, the dearest gift in life,
So often born in lust and in violence end?
Should we not nurse our true love without strife?
And gently from the heart to our beloved send?
Thus day and night I cultivate my love
With tender care, soft prayers and sweetest thoughts,
For the day when it blossoms into a grove,
To catch your heart, for you to taste the fruits.
(32) Age
If we construct a life with photos at different ages,
From a toddler to a wrinkled elder, in stages,
And show it as a movie footage, we’ll find
A horror show out-scaring any of its kind.
Yet modern technology can soften the fright,
By pumping the cheeks and pulling loose skin tight,
And photo editing can do the rest
To make life’s pictures a series of angels blest.
The covers can be improved but not so the pulps;
Internal organs rot as their owner poisons gulps:
Drugs, drinks and the indulgence of the flesh
Together or singly turn their inside to mesh.
Only for the mind, age is a blessing in disguise;
Experience, wisdom and knowledge with age arise.
Millenniums of memory bless a scholar’s head;
Old fools have a mental age of ten instead.
Thanks to my studies for growing old in grace,
And thanks to love for prolonging my youthful days.
I thank you most for giving purpose to my life,
So I can follow your guide in joyful strife.
(33) Dreams
(32) Age
If we construct a life with photos at different ages,
From a toddler to a wrinkled elder, in stages,
And show it as a movie footage, we’ll find
A horror show out-scaring any of its kind.
Yet modern technology can soften the fright,
By pumping the cheeks and pulling loose skin tight,
And photo editing can do the rest
To make life’s pictures a series of angels blest.
The covers can be improved but not so the pulps;
Internal organs rot as their owner poisons gulps:
Drugs, drinks and the indulgence of the flesh
Together or singly turn their inside to mesh.
Only for the mind, age is a blessing in disguise;
Experience, wisdom and knowledge with age arise.
Millenniums of memory bless a scholar’s head;
Old fools have a mental age of ten instead.
Thanks to my studies for growing old in grace,
And thanks to love for prolonging my youthful days.
I thank you most for giving purpose to my life,
So I can follow your guide in joyful strife.
(33) Dreams
Great visionaries have their dreams for a better world,
And they would live to fight with pen or sword.
But lesser souls have dreams all of their own;
They dream of money, power, sex and renown.
There’re also those who think they dream of love.
But often instead of pursuing true love they rove
The world for an image seen in a movie show.
Until the idol’s dead, and the dreamer’s old.
Is such a baseless search worth one’s good time?
A print with your favourite star costs only a dime.
The dreamer might spot a look-alike by chance,
Who could turn out to be a drunkard or a dunce.
So see beyond the surface and the trappings,
And dream of high ideals. If the dreams have no substance
How could the realities make a better tale?
I dream of virtues shining through your soul.
(34) Moods
Mood can swing like a pendulum, from pain
To plesure, from joy to sorrow, and back again.
It can be the eye of a storm; a moment of peace
And calm, followed by tsunamis and wild seas.
The swing and turbulence can be so small
At the worst of times; they can’t be noticed at all.
The Christian and Buddhist saints won’t move a bit,
If the sky caves in and Earth’s about to split.
Their water runs deep. The ballast’s heavy in their ship,
Their faith strong, and their will won’t trip or slip.
But what high moral standards they need to meet
To gain such peace? Most would balk at the feat.
There’s yet another way to control our moods.
It’s true, unselfish love, which in green woods
Caress our moods in its gentle-rocking arms.
That’s how I got my balance under your charms.
(35) Sorrow
Companion of joy and its shadow, sorrow,
It always lurks in the background, and wait for tomorrow,
If there is jubilation here and now,
The price will be paid in sorrow later somehow.
Yet there are sorrows without pleasures at all.
They result from anger, hate and evil’s thall.
And sometimes sorrow can be a fertile field,
For growing plants that a higher pleasure yield.
The sorrows that arise from caring for you,
Ferments the sweetest elixir that I know,
Which eases all my worldly suffering and woe.
I welcome sorrows that come from loving you.
Perhaps in great works of art the two combine
(36) Reason and Sense
Reason and sense are often at loggerhead.
The former is logic’s milk and fountainhead;
The latter is opaque, misty and prone to seduce.
In contest, what mighty combats they produce?
Perhaps the two can work in tandem, one checks
The excess of the other to deliver balanced acts.
But rarely, for reason’s a craft of the mind, not the heart;
And sense assists imagination and art.
Perhaps in great works of art the two combine
To produce the love child of true beauty sublime.
When reason teaches the artist to understand
And inspiration and feelings guide the hand.
One seeking truth, the other for beauty search,
They’ll find the same, as their own targets reach,
For “beauty is truth, truth beauty”, and this I know
Beauty and truth are working in harmony in you.
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