No one's Fault

The rain shall continue to pour
and washes the unwanted all.
Will I forget? Will I?
I wonder the whatifs.
I wonder about the swim.
The swim that I have waited for so long
Has come to naught.
What if
What if
There is no turning back now
The shed tears
The extinguished hope
The misguided light
Has no place
The coffin is bare
The grave is empty
Where has it gone
In the waters
Of my memory

The Easy Way Out

Take me, my Lord, take me, for life is a miserable wretch, an agonizing struggle against the woes of humanity, a daily warfare against the Fates, the three bitches who turn the damning wheel this way and the other.

Cut the string, I say, cut it. Why prolong the torture that beset me at every corner? Haven't I been played enough already? I am unwilling, I cannot swallow it, this hell, this accursed workplace that reeks of that sulphurous stench everywhere I go. It is hell on Earth. And every day, I report to hell for work. Thirty years of unending anguish, torture, and it seems so much easier to take the easy way out. One packet of broad beans, just one packet is all it takes, and everything ends peacefully.

The connections I have forged, will vanish in an instant. The good things together with the bad will disappear, misery will be extinguished. Let there be neither hell or heaven, but that entropy. Take me!

Insomnia

I can't sleep until you are by my side. I can't believe myself. This seems nearly impossible for this postmodernist soul. But yet, I am by your side. It's a dream, and I am constantly afraid it would end. I am living on extended time, after all.

It's insomnia.

Monga

So it shall be. The meaning of life lies in the very acts of struggle for existence itself. One loses something and gains something and in that very process, completes the search for the existential truth. God is at my boundary. There is only the Fight.

All These While

As the drudge wears on, I wonder if the mental resistance will collapse eventually. Am I capable of juggling all these brutal burdens? Am I worth the trouble? My capabilities are overrated, and I don't feel the sense of self-worth after misadventure after misadventure. I am weary.

I want to do something more for the kids, yet I am bounded by the very fetters of administrative drudge. I am helpless. Yet, how do the rest cope? I seriously wonder.

I trudge on.

I need to find an alternative to the apparent fate lying in store for me. And this is an occupation I refuse to be quagmired in.

How could even the keying in of remarks be deprived of autonomy? I don't even have that barest of authority, usurped by the process of management itself.

What other scholarly pursuits can I undertake? I need to continue my quaser. But at what price? I wonder again.

The Wanderer, the Juggler

I am destined to wander, in search of ideals that are never meant to be. I am the Juggler, a balancer of acts who precariously teeter on the edge. I am a Mustang, a spirit of the Cimarron, never to be tethered, to be cooped in the cages of reality. I am the Rebel, rebelling against the constricting rules of society. I am a Fighter, battling against the wheels of fortune, of fate turning, turning. And I am the Mage, a magic-user of the mind and time, of the Will and Fate. I shall control my own destiny, and fulfil my Quaser despite the constant deluge of sorrows. For Sorrow is my strength. At my nadir, shall I rebound with greater strength. I am the Will. And I shall dictate everything in my fancy.

The Time is Nigh

The time is finally here for me to make a stand for whatever I stood for, the insistent call to the grave, to embrace my ever-lasting peace. The Time is Nigh, I say, and nothing stands against my way. I shall complete what I have left unfinished 15 years ago, something which I should have done so long ago. I shall bring my years to a close. This week, I hope.