A plastic virtual labyrinth of lust
For those lost souls with minds drier than dust.
Yes all anxieties, woes and despair
Will in these mesmerizing spins disappear.
There’re tantalizing jackpots to tempt you on;
Your purse gets lighter, as your greed grows strong.
This horrid spinning stops when you are broke,
With a gigantic headache and impending stroke.
As your machine runs out of fuel, the sound
From other wheels of doom send you spell-bound.
Your problems have increased, and so your sores;
So get more cash and come back for more cures.
Thus orbiting like planets near and far
Around the dark heart of an evil star,
These pokies are truly black wholes which suck
The hapless players dry and out of luck.
Day in and day out, up and down they ride,
From mounting debts they’ve got no place to hide.
A comet dashing aimless in the dark void,
And self-destruction’s a fate they can’t avoid.
So why don’t they find something worth their while,
Enrich their soul and make their mind fertile?
Instead of a shooting comet, my thoughts rotate
Around my love, and flourish in her lush state.
(38) Money
Is money the root of all evils or a
Solution to all our problems, a panacea.
No doubt it can be both or either; depends
On how one gets money and how one spends.
It’s made to go around from one grabbing hand
To another, buying pleasure, favours and
Some status symbols to flaunt one’s worldly wealth,
However procured, by fair means or by stealth.
Yet in the right hands so much good can come,
To feed the hungry and to give a home,
Or to care for the body and the soul.
But the abuse of money tips the scale.
For money drug dealers would risk their neck.
And addicts rob or steal for crack or smack.
For money corrupt officials pocket graft
And waste on superfluous junk and acting daft.
The best things in life can’t be bought or sold.
One can buy pleasure with money or gold,
But not true love or a truly righteous heart;
One can buy books or paintings, not wisdom or art.
I’ll plough the land from dawn to dusk, with sweat
On my brows and a song in my heart. One day I’ll get
Enough money to do good things for all,
But no amount of money can replace your smile.
(39) Depression
Some are depressed
For falling in love.
Some are depressed
For being out of love.
Some are depressed
For being so poor
As to pick up crumbs on the floor.
Some are depressed
For losing their dough,
Or losing sleep to make assets grow.
The best cure of this pandemic woe
Is to forgive and forget your foe,
And find the love you can trust and admire,
Which leads you to heaven and never tires.
Your love keeps my spirit at its height;
Instead of depression, it’s all joy and delight.
(40) Disease
Disease, the harbinger and lieutenant of Death.
The former tortures its victim with brutal crime,
The latter then takes the wretch underneath.
These partners in crime succeed each single time.
But often the disciple can outwit the master
And double-cross him at his own grim game.
He can destroy the soul a darn sight faster
Than Death can claim the body in his name.
Just look around and looked at those poor souls,
Long suffering, moribund and virtually dead.
The myth of the walking dead’s true after all.
His master kills; he snatches souls instead.
Because of you my soul is safe and sound,
Which, free from the body, nothing on earth can harm.
It’s pure and healthy and by loyalty bound
To be your soul mate, nourished by your charm.
(41) Deception
Deception takes so many forms and shapes,
From lying, cheating, conning to online scam.
It could be crude and obvious or subtly caped,
But with one common purpose to profit by sham.
See how the shining red ripe apples appeal
To your sight, smell and hungry appetite!
It’s rotten inside, when you puncture the peal.
Once sweet, its heart decayed in silence at night.
So don’t be deceived by what you see or hear;
External design can even block X-rays.
But no deception from my love I need to fear,
For I could feel your soul before I saw you face.
(42) Suspicion
Whenever two lovers each other suspect,
The result is what anyone can expect.
When he is working hard in the office,
She thinks he’s fingering some orifice.
When she is busy in the kitchen cooking,
He smells a rat, thinking she’s quietly hooking.
Or rummage through each other’s pockets and papers,
Or eave-drop each other’s chatting and whispers.
Or peeking into emails and text messages
Trying to discover secret accounts or passages.
And if found guilty instant war and destruction;
If not, from the devil there will be more instruction.
Can relationship such as this last for long?
They are as week as their suspicion’s strong.
True love is built on mutual respect and trust,
For it to grow and last, trust is a must.
Whatever you do, my love, has to be right;
A love so pure suspicion cannot blight.
My home old Melbourne Town ! How it endears!
How I have witnessed your changes o’er the years!
How from a Victoria outpost with its convict past,
Has transformed to a booming city built to last!
The old Victoria morals and a puritan bend
Have formed a thin veneer, from whose cracks extend
\ Resilient tendrils with roots even more robust,
Growing in the fertile soil of human lust.
Austere church buildings once housed Sunday schools
Now put on tinsels to feed gluttonous fools.
And liquors can now be served around the clock.
Remember the days when pubs closed at six o’clock?
Ah don’t forget the sexual revolution,
Which changed this town from a centre for absolution
To the massage parlor capital of the world,
There’re legal brothels now, and sex trades bold..
Yet the façade of respectability still
Exists, and its libraries, museums and galleries still
Occupy the prime sites in the city, but
These days they’re more like tourist spots than not.
There’re also cataclysmic changes in the hearts
Of its people, who put cash-making above all arts.
And migrants from all parts of the world have made
Their fortunes with work and scoff at well-bred toffs.
It’s not so bad to replace what’s pure and right
With a complex collage of colour, shade and light.
But Melbourne is my city still; it’s where
My love transcends the chaos and sorrows disappear.
Old Sydney , the city with the Harbour Bridge ,
The icon of Australia on international stage,
This old coat hanger and its modern bride,
The Opera House, are hot spots in tourist guide.
The harbour view against blue cloudless sky
Impresses visitors at first sight. That’s why
It’s tourists’ first port of call. Even the Rock,
Their favourite joint, a Trafalgar Square ad hoc.
Behind these facades of gaiety and fun,
Behind these facades of gaiety and fun,
The sleazy innards of low-life suburbs spun,
While North Shore splashes its wealth by the sea.
More serious conflicts one can easily see.
The ethnic gangs took roots at an alarming rate
The Mafia, the Tong, and the Russians, who came late.
Corrupt police and pollies by media branded;
Indigenous people rue the day Cook landed.
Despite its soft underbelly the city thrives
As the financial and business centre of our lives.
A true cosmopolitan metropolis
That shares the pleasures and woes of great cities.
First to put on its loose garbs and dancing robes,
While others broken loose from colonial ropes
Were gasping behind to follow its nimble drift.
But they can ne’er get near its natural gift.
Much as I appreciate its sight and sound,
My heart belongs still to Melbourne town,
Where some inherent dignity still survives,
Where my love’s closeness oft my soul revives.
A wonderland of fun, sun, surfs and beaches
Perfect to make the folks forget their woes.
First bask in bikini to show off their peaches
Then splash in sparkling sea and frolic in the woods.
If these activities not exciting enough’
Then try the discos and the pubs for kicks.
Awash with booze and drugs with froth in mouth,
And deafened by noise, no wonder one gets sick.
If that is not enough, there are theme parks
To add more spice to one’s fantastic fun,
A roller coaster ride, a trip in the dark
To a haunted cave if one has too much sun.
The ocean shore once pristine, clean and wild
Is now a playground for rich and idle soul,
Where sea spray and beverage bubbles flowing wild,
Where human lust and fluid in frenzy swirl.
It’s easy to forget one’s woes as well
As reality itself. The locals just stroll
In slippers, shorts and hats, and you can tell
From their disinterest, they aren’t tourist at all.
This melting pot of people, pleasure, vice,
Money and decadent life‘s no place for high
Thinking or meditation with half-closed eyes,
But the thought of you lifts my soul to the sky.
(46) Hobart
Once a whaling town. The Antarctic current now
Still sweeps its shores with unrelenting rage,
Though the whaling has been banned and somehow
The industry’s past is only to be found in history’s page.
An even grimmer past was among the remain
Of old Port Arthur , now a tourist spot.
A tragic massacre occurred; the ghosts of the slain
Have joint those of the convicts with far worse lot.
Across the city a mausoleum was erected to bury
The gamblers, a monument for all to see,
First legal casino, an edifice of lust and luxury,
Now dwarfed by rivals across the Tasman Sea .
Despite its humble and brutal past, the town
Has a charm and warmth all of its own. Its terrain
So gently undulating, with cliffs thrust down
To roaring ocean, a jewel in nature’s domain.
The folks with pale complexion more or less
Betraying a long existence in inclement cold,
Belying an inner warmth and humbleness,
Can self-disparage in jest with dignity untold.
Across the strait, their self-righteous counterparts
Make a stark contrast, uptight and falsely austere.
But there’s my love, whose warmth would move all hearts.
Whatever the weather, she’s all light and fresh air.
A British colony and jewel of the empire,
Returned to its mother’s communistic arms.
Yet there is nothing socialist about the entire
Abnormal social framework, with all its charms
Of the old days, a materialistic haven
Where all can be bought, and money reigns supreme.
Even the socialists make good use of its proven
Financial structures from its old regime.
With money in the bank, regardless of its source,
One can walk tall while sycophants do crawl.
With money one can have concubines galore,
Bedecked with jewelry, they’re the envy of all.
With money even the central government
Would heap medals and honours upon your chest
And offer you a seat to represent
The people, the vested interests and the rest.
Such irony and such incongruity
Exist so naturally on this rocky isle.
A giant shadow cast across the sea
On freedom and democracy for all,
Who cares when they’ve got all the freedom they need?
Freedom to buy whatever you want is all
A coarse mind needs, and there’s no other creed.
Here the money chase is truly a free-for-all.
This kind of selective freedom is opposite
To freedom of the mind with body’s in a cell.
Great works of art have been found on prison site,
And momentous movements aroused behind the walls.
True love can’t die through isolation or
The tyranny of distance, or fortune’s low.
And nothing in this crazy super store
Can deprive me of the purest thought of you.
48 Macau
Poor cousin of Hong Kong , a colony
Of erstwhile sea power Portugal is now
In China ’s iron grip across the sea.
Pragmatically she allows it keep the show
On non-stop, gambling and prostitution are rife,
And money laundering too with gambling chips.
One always can make easy money in life
From vice, and government’s share fills many ships.
So instead of a single casino from way back,
Now dozens of them have mushroomed from the dust;
Its leaders, hand-picked by Mainland China attack
The economy by exploiting greed and lust.
The floodgate’s opened, as Yankee moguls moved in;
Las Vagas have been copied in the East.
Now fortunes change hands on a roulette spin,
Or when a card is turned, or the dice are cast.
Now gamblers from China , with cases filled with cash,
Look for quick fortunes, risking a hole in the head.
Corrupt officials stake their embezzled stash
As well as life to get rich or shot instead.
Drug dealers and smugglers launder their ill-gained wealth;
And dirty money becomes snow white again.
All these are connived at and accepted by stealth;
As public coffers are filled, all are to gain.
This bedlam of noise and smoke, this treasure hunt,
Has weaved new social fibre and collective dreams.
You win some and lose some; if you keep an account,
You’ll find you can’t win more than lose it seems.
But life itself’s a gamble, which few can win;
Success and failure ride on a spinning wheel.
Even love could lose if motivated by sin,
My love for you can’t lose but all prevail.
.
No comments:
Post a Comment