I did not know, the time we met
That it would end this way
I'd not have sung this long duet
Or walked to meet halfway
I did not know true love could die
Unlike in fairy tales
I would have sliced mine like a pie
And boxed a piece with nails
I do not know the way from here
Or if I want to go
Today, the sun did not appear
Tomorrow, it will show
Saturday, March 3, 2012
Silence
It is the music of the trees
In the drone of the balmy breeze
It is the stretching of the hills
And the tears the sky sadly spills
Thunderclap in breaking hearts
The unseen tail of poison darts
It is the picture of the sea
The still before the storm we see
It is the depth of the deep black
hole
The massive ice caps in each Pole
It is the cosmic dance of stars
And the sounds of life on Mars
The great allure of muted minds
The need to see behind the blinds
The presence of stark loneliness
The blank before each ‘I confess’.
Friday, March 2, 2012
Finis
It rose and then it glowed
Was hot and enragé
Turned cold and blazed again
It grew and flew away
It struck a light and shone
Was swept up in a swirl
Tailspinning in a trice
It mellowed and refined
It set and gave a sigh
Was far from growing old
The time had come to go
It crept away to die.
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
PatrOItic
Rubbish teacher. How can a person luring kids to a TV programme say "patroitic" and expect me to let my child watch? I've seen too many kindergarten teachers destroy our kids' speech and pronunciation with 2 decades of undoing to correct. Are teachers at that level not probably the most important? Patroitic? Idiotic!
Friday, February 17, 2012
Do You Know Certiorari?
Three lawyers and I found ourselves in a suite
with building engineers. For a spell we forged ahead swimmingly, while jousting
over fair laws and shear walls. Then, the convener careened into construction clichĂ©s about ‘fixes’. To tease us, mystified advocates, one engineer made a grand old
show of explaining ‘fixes’ to us. What did I do? I fixed him with a fast-fetched question: Do you know Certiorari? He waved his hands in his pride-peeling
pickle and did not veer my way again.
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