Sunday, 25 December 2011

But To Proclaim

Having everything, yet nothing.

Simply gazing along the streets is a pondering pleasure. Commanding colours bustling with character, decorations intricate in their ensemble, intentions clear and deliberate. Lights arrayed in longing lingerings; gleaming under the sun, glancing under the moon.

The stage is set. But there seems to be no play.

The lights emanate without embrace.
The songs sing without spirit.
The city dreams without hope.

They have everything, yet nothing.

I think about him, whom I first met in the bus; hurling fabricate perceptions and presumptions, sparing him with naught… He, of whom, I will never meet ever again, in this lifetime.

I reel in the truth. I stagger in The Truth.

How many more shall wander, before we ponder.

Forgive us, remind us,
‘Tis not to entertain
…but to proclaim.


Friday, 16 December 2011

Early Dawning Of The Season

Am reminded of a time where I was sitting at the cafeteria, where a 3-piece jazz band was merrily belting out Christmas tunes, way before the season arrived. And I remember how the tunes continued to linger in the shadows and under the full moon, as I trotted back to my dorm through the walkways and subways. That moment brought stark realizations on the significance that this season truly brings – nothing less than a hope for all hearts. A hope one must realize.

Early dawning of The Season,
Close knit, yet far sighted.
That jazz trip and song in the shadows,
Lobbying One Hope, and One Light.

A watchful gaze, piercing darkness,
The eye of the night, mesmerizing in fullness.
The sweep of The Spirit,
Soaking, saturating…sequestering silence.

Staring in stark realization,
A clouded conscience, childish chagrin.
The train of temperament, eluding its own path,
And unto its own.

Woeful remorse, within hapless emptiness
I shudder.
For if Thou hasten Thy Hand,
Will I be ready for Heaven.


Monday, 12 December 2011

In Higher Hands

We look around, and we feel small. We see that man with a seemingly flawless business, that lady with the mad piano skills, that dreamer who lives his dream, and we can’t help but feel small. Yet, He holds us in ways higher, ways unfathomable. Ways worth trusting.

Peering within, in light of others,
Nothing but small, bitter, inferior.
Our gifts, nay others a better,
Nevertheless, ordained by thy Maker.

Our Father, in His wisdom and splendour,
Rendereth some stronger, some truly weaker.
Injustice, fear, fill our hearts, a ponder,
But you; O you, held in hands a higher.

Gideon weak, David small, Paul a persecutor,
Peter faltered, Thomas doubted, and Judas Iscariot a traitor.
Joseph young, Rahab a harlot, Moses was a stutterer.
For goodness sake, Lazarus was dead a prior!

Yet, in weakness, God entered the picture,
To fulfilleth His purpose; divine and mightier.
Likewise, in our frailties, though we doubt and anger,
But you; O you, held in hands a higher.


Tuesday, 6 December 2011


The dread of the dreamer,
The friend of the fraud,
The counsel of compromise.

The subtle suppressor.

“How soon “not now” become never..”  – Martin Luther King Jr.

Friday, 2 December 2011

'Twas An Odd Day

I stood in the elevator,
Of twelve people strong.
Six men and six ladies,
Yet I stood above them all.

‘Twas an odd day. 
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