Thursday, July 24, 2014

Ivory tower

The flowers have blossomed
Can't you see?
Of pink of white of yellow.
On that cherry tree.

But somewhere in the dark
Are withered flowers
And leaves all dead
Gathered round the ivory tower.

The city of babel raged in fire
The massacre of the innocents
The fall of the old empire
The bodies lay tormented.

But in another world,
The people are merry-making
Dancing their waltzes,
Their champagne glasses clinking.

These are the worlds
On one blue earth
The same souls
Damned and birthed.

Monday, July 21, 2014

Some dreams u wake up from.
Whilst sweet,
Make you weep.
Because they remain,
In dreams.
The harsh reality
Is what greets
You each day.
Each day,
The heart grows colder,
I see it in others' eyes,
The same pain,
The same lives.
We are all the same.
Destroyed by lies,
By the dreams that cannot be.

Sunday, July 20, 2014


Very well-written diary... I can get what she meant when she said one shouldn't hesitate when writing. Once you do, there is always a risk of self-censorship. Rather synonymous to most things in life. Once we hesitate, fear, worries, anxieties set in, and we lose our momentum to do/say something. Good example of this is today. Hesitated whether to attend service.. And Alas, here I am lying in bed writing mindless stuff.

Tuesday, July 8, 2014

Man with the banjo

Kumbaya my lord,
That old folk song you used to sing,
Under the willow tree.
Strumming that old banjo
With your weary fingers.

Kumbaya my lord,
you sang as the night settled.
The woods gathered in the day,
Were set ablaze.
By the fire you sat,
Singing that familiar old song.

Kumbaya my lord.
The birds had gone into hiding,
The sounds of the crickets permeated the air.
The children gathered around you,
The glowing fire reflected in their eyes.
Enchanted they watched,
As you strummed and sang
Kumbaya my lord.

Kumbaya my lord.
The night grew darker,
The children's eyes were hazy.
It is time for bed,
Their mothers called.
When they were gone,
Alone you sat,
Still singing that song.

Kumbaya my lord.
You waited till the stars were out,
Under the willow tree,
You put down that old banjo,
With your arms behind your head,
You watched them twinkle,
Till dawn came and stole them away.

Kumbaya my lord
You hummed.
And slung that old banjo across your back,
Walking away from that willow tree,
Which had been your home for a night,
And disappeared into the morning mist.

Monday, July 7, 2014

Mr Bach is driving me up the walls....

Friday, July 4, 2014

July... Such a packed month... Mission conference, mission briefing, mission trip, piano exam, 3 cells, 2 different readings with SS and cell... Wonder why everything happens at the same time... But I guess it leaves me less time to mull over unnecessary things.

Saw a typewriter the other day at a garage sale. So tempted to buy. Everyone seems to be progressing but I am regressing. But I like the sounds of the typewriter, especially the older models, not the ribbon type from the 80/90s. And I like the print.

Tuesday, June 24, 2014


His kingdom lay ruined
As the old sage had foretold.
Before the crumbled walls,
He stood all forlorn.

Earthly kingdoms,
Are born and destroyed
In the Creator's single breath.
He understood now the brevity of life.

Yesterday, today, tomorrow,
Forgotten, forsaken, foregone.
What is eternal
The eyes cannot see.

All that he has once owned
All that he has once loved
Were, are, and will be destroyed.
With nothing, he was born.
And With nothing, he will perish.

These truths he understand now,
His spirit broken.
All that he has fought and won
Are for naught.

For naught, for naught
The king lamented.
And laughed at his youthful folly.
Once the dust has settled,
He is a king no more.