Wake up Pray and mandi Call Grab Have breakfast and coffee Write my reflections Take the train to the office Work Check Instagram Work Pray Work Eat lunch (sometimes) Work some more Pray Pack up Take the train home Close my Move loop in the mall Eat dinner (sometimes) Pray Read (or watch Netflix) Mandi and pray Turn off the lights and close my eyes and think about Jah and Life and where am I going and what does it all mean and am I doing this right and how am I going to get through tomorrow and. Inspired by Ted Berrigan's 10 things I do every day
On Letting Go and Letting God
Let go and let God have His way with you Trust in His magnum Grace and guidance true. Days like these it feels like Life ain't playing Fair, and cheers have turned to jeers and braying. But know that your Lord cares for you and loves You, and in your hardship, know that His troves of treasure wait whom hold onto His rope Steadfast, never falt'ring in Faith and Hope For his benediction. Just do your thing: The redemption you prayed for, He will bring. Inspired by PJ Morton's "Let Go (feat. The Walls Group)" from his The Piano Album
On The Call of the Machine
Most days, you will hear it as a whispered breeze
Passing through the tall trees of your daily existence
Seducing you with its gentle caress
And sometimes, on days like today
The song becomes a deafening roar in your ear
Pulling at your hand
Tugging at your heart
Screaming in your face:
Surrender to the machine!
Submit to the call!
Obey obey obey!
On Staying Calm
Calm down. Relax. No one is looking. Everyone else is busy Fretting over their own lives, Their own dreams and conceits and vanities To notice what you just said, Or the existential angst That burns like midnight fire Through each line Of that LinkedIn post that you just wrote.
On The Fish Pond
Like little flickering flames
Dancing within the depths of a mirror
The little red fishies evade the
Staccato swishes
Of my tender ten-year old fingers
Roiling the surface of the fish pond
Like the clumsy clowning of an errant god.
On The Idiot Box
There I was, sunk into myself, eyes glazed
As a parade of beguiling sights and
Sounds charm me like a beady-eyed serpent
Needy, greedy in my des’prate desire
To forget, to beget my own slumber
Against the roaring din of existence.
On The Israeli Bombardment of Al Ahli Hospital
Too many eyes have been wounded tonight
Eyes which have wept wet tears of blinding grief
Now red, bleared, livid with war’s burning fog.
Bloodshot eyes, now braying for the blood of
Children, women whose only sin is that
They dare to insist on the right to live.
On The Miracle of Modern Flight
Beyond mere sight, the drone of jet-heeled thrust
Propels these numbered souls through sky, through clouds
Aboard this metal wing we embarked, flocked
And flecked with hopes and honeyed dreams ablaze.
Hurtling through the smoky night, we sail thus
Within tubular confine, nonchalant
At the miracle of modern flight, such
Being this, our present state of blessed grace.
Lives thus emplaced in Techne’s steady hand,
We embrace the calm slumber of meek souls.
On New Adventures
Always, the best things in our lives, they come
Unbidden, unasked, unexpectedly.
What does it take for the pale slivers of
Random good fortune and fate to greet us
And beckon us with grace and welcome smile?
How is it that such blessings often bid
Welcome only once Time has done its work,
When Aeschylus’ awful grace has worn down
Grieving hearts into spartan fists, never
Falt’ring in their austere, singular task
Of mournful remembrance for what once was?
And yet, and yet - Fortuna will demand
That we wipe our tears and hoist sails anew:
Fresh winds now come to stir this placid sea
A new adventure calls - we sail today.
On Watching His National Day Rally Speeches in YouTube
From across the yawning gap, the wide chasm Of irretrievable Time, I watched this Lion of a man hold his people in a Roaring trance: his eyes ablaze, his voice in Firm, unshakeable command: exhorting, Cajoling, pleading, teasing, commanding. Teaching his people, teasing out the facts Of a hostile environ in which their Red dot is ensconced: uneasy, wary. Informing them of glory, great heights scaled, Warning them of complacency, of ease. He growls, roars, thunders like an Asian Jove, Like a Confucian father to cowed sons. Tells them to buck up, work t'wards, fight against, March onwards and upwards, Sisyphean. He says, "Even from my sickbed, even If you are going to lower me into The grave and I feel that something is going Wrong, I will get up." As I watch him on Stage, from the corner of my eye, I keep Watch for the angry ghost of Lee Kuan Yew.