Sunday, August 29, 2010


Voices from the past are no more here
To remind and guide me as before
To speak and laugh together as before
Those people, whom I cherished dearly
Are, spiritually entombed,
In this ever flowing universe.
However, their energized words ever consciously
Replaying in my conscience
Stirring the memories from somewhere
To enliven the hope, which seemingly fades.
Huddled between many thoughts
Suddenly I have a remorseful feeling
Many have existed but unto ashes have gone invisible
My turn too shall come, sooner, maybe later.
This mystery of birth and death keep revolving within me
In loneliness it increases in speed
I wonder what this is all about
From unborn we all are born,
To be reborn again unto another plane
Only this time the transition,
Death we call it with sad intonation.

A passing that takes no turn,
Eternity locks this mystery
Of faces vanished in her timeless sojourn.

Copyright©cyclopseven. 290810.

Saturday, August 28, 2010

Dark Paint

Night still speaks louder in darkness
Though spoiled by the neon
The silence that dawn as the night slips deeper
Knocked my heart open for a conscious stay.
I stand on my porch staring at the dotted sky
Flashes of asteroids travel speedily from one star to another
My heart captured that scene of bliss
What indeed is the mystery the space above speaks?
I may not understand the marvel of this creation
Yet, my feeling carries the strangest phenomenon
Subtly beyond the reach of thoughts
And, I know the night is not just a moment.

It is but
The master of my sleepless existence
And a painting brilliant in the absence of day.

Copyright©cyclopseven. 280810.

Sunday, August 22, 2010


Sloughing their characters
With winning frequency
At every circumstances
They deceive me repeatedly.
They exuviate wickedness at every ticking second
In smiles and care, they show concern
Molten wickedness dissipates unto every capillary
I am hurt repeatedly.
In strangeness, I sit alone facing my shadow
Wonders upon wonders began to unveil in transparent layers
And, as each veil evaporates, I am seeing less human.


We are subtly the same with gross differences
But, some wearing wickedness 24 hours a day
Yet skillfully concealing the truest of the meanest self
With words and smiles made to glitter.


I may not be in full bloom of perfection
Yet wickedness is a strange world
A little anger
A little jealousy
A little hate
I may entertain
Still all are too painful to bear,
And fearful too,
Of the retribution to come.

But, wickedness?
Unbearably devilish

Oh Lord
Spare me from this.

Copyright©cyclopseven. 220810.

Friday, August 20, 2010


Pedantic brains struggle
To express the inexpressibility
Trans-linguistically enshrined.

Donkeys laugh across the meadow
Cows lying lazily under the trees
Trees gaily gaze the inexpressible expression,
Who cares about what is that?
For animals and trees are better informed
And, they experience rather than
Expressing the trans-linguistic factor,

But, we go on
In pages, we confined our theories, assuming,
The trans-linguistic, expressed.
Our conceptions are
Like shadowy illusions
Comprehends not the greatest illusionist,

Eternally the magnificent.

Copyright © cyclopseven 120810.

Tuesday, August 17, 2010


Taciturnly seeping between generations
Leaving no gap at each transition
Time changes everything.
As time prepares each for their evolution
Influencing the minds of every generation
New minds come forth proclaiming
‘This is a new world, this is modernity’.
Modernity, is
The facade of the viewer
At each pause they view new
And, ensuant modernity.

©cyclopseven. All rights reserved 170810.

Friday, August 13, 2010


Being by Fontainebleau forest
Exposed to shade and impressive lights
A Monet nor Renoir makes not.
Inborn essence
Coupled with inquisitive mind
Impressions of success are made of.

©cyclopseven. All rights reserved 130810.


Impignorating humaneness
For selfishness
Many breathe unaware
Of the ephemeral.

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Thursday, August 12, 2010


A pen,
is not just a pen.

When in love
It liquefies petals of rose
Regurgitating words of a lover.

In prayer
It succumbs lovingly
With divine sweetness.

When in power
Many signatures
It carries to greater heights
With the twist of wrist

In expression
Invisible thoughts
Gain forms.

In revolution
It’s a potential liquidator!

©cyclopseven. All rights reserved 300610.

Sunday, August 08, 2010

She is not just a tree…....

Taman Tasik, Pengkalan Hulu, Perak

Twenty-five years ago, I spent most of my days and nights under this tree, contemplating, weighing and arguing on various mysteries of life. I poured all my pains, grudges, grievances, hatred, love, appreciation, anger, depression, frustration, tolerance, intolerance, loss, gain, anticipations, and my tears on her roots. She bore all with patience and grew steadily without least compulsion. That is her beauty, an embodiment of nature. She listened to my woeful and cheerful stories. She helped me to relieve the bottled up emotions and freed me from the burdening suppression. She listened and listened without a sign of boredom, while graciously danced to the wind, consciously soothed the birds and unrelentingly kissed the atmosphere. I know she is no ordinary tree. I believe she is full of energy and vibration of healing capacity. I do not know how old is she, but I know she is many years older than I am, and wiser too.

Today I had the opportunity to step on the same soil again, and I went looking for her. She was there, as usual playful in her own way. Down deep, I knew that she was aware of my presence there. Though she did not extend her physical form to welcome me, the vibes she exuded was more than I could take. I stood near her, thanking her for the silent support, the time spent and for enduring my monotonous monologues, which later with her silent participation I deciphered as interactive dialogues between mind and nature. She is still the same, not much changes though, but this time around, the bench is empty with no one sharing their lives with her.

Suddenly, strange wishes seeped into my mind. I wish I were the earth that sustains her ever and the water that reflects her always and I wish I were the bird that perched on one of her many branches. I wish I were the sun that baths her with supreme light, I wish I were the wind that she always dances to.

Seconds passed by ticking into minutes. It is time for me to leave. I bowed to her within my mind, and I thanked her for all the good things shared and most of all for tolerating my non-stop grunts. Hope to see her soon and share many good things that happened to me in the last 25 years.

Thank you.

©cyclopseven. All rights reserved 080810.

Tuesday, August 03, 2010

We are ancient, aren’t we?

We are ancient, aren’t we?
Each strand of modernism
Imbued with contemporary thoughts
Uproot us, the ancient people
From the layers of the ancient.
We are ancient, aren’t we?
The ancients keep us going
Yet we feel we are ever new
Breaking the borders of civilization
Experiencing contemporaneity.

We are never new,
The ever ancient wind
The ever ancient space
The ever ancient fire
The ever ancient earth
The ever ancient water
Sustain us ever.
And ancient they are,
So we must too.

Ancient we are, we will always be
Warped ideas weave the mind
In experiential contemporaneity we dissappear
Though, we are only anciently modernistic.
As my barefoot touches the earth
In nudity, I let my body courts the wind
And the sun warms my presence
After the early morning rain.

And, the spatial awareness
Tells me that I am ever ancient
A traveler from the past.

©cyclopseven. All rights reserved 030710.

Sunday, August 01, 2010


Suicide is not just about death
Suicide is not just about depressive silence
Suicide is about the dead of the society
Suicide is about the ignoring silence of the masses.
Suicidal, a feeling beyond words
Suicidal, a feeling beyond expression
Suicidal, is synonymous not to death
Suicidal, a feeling, is not far from us.

Dead society with rocky feelings
Ignores the plea set forth by bodily language
Each of us busily busy with our own tasks
Time we have, but not the mind and heart to serve.
For a movie we take the depressed to relieve their stress
For a meal we take the suicidal to kill the seed suicidal
We enjoy the movie, we delightfully swallow the meal
We ‘presume’ our friends too shared the same feelings.

Deep down the deadly stalker lies in abeyance
Waiting to pounce by ounce, the victim remains haplessly helpless
Gnawing deep unto the conscience, into the being it merges
Dead fears them no more, only the moment waits to trigger the END.
We, the proud boastful members of the so-called modern societies
Skeptically ignore the pleas and cries of the few distressed souls
Assuming all is right because the victims look hale external
We let their inner turmoil roots deeper and deeper.

Their inner chattering continues
Contours of their rants appear on the face
The pricks of desperation surround their aura
Yet, we are busy planning the trivial of our lives.
Suicide is not just about death
Suicide is not just about depressive silence
Suicide is about the dead of the society
Suicide is about the ignoring silence of the masses,

Suicide is about our selfishness.

©cyclopseven. All rights reserved 010810.


The wind seeps
The water blows
The fire hardens
The earth liquefies.
Noon without sun
And night without moon
Sparkling stars I see at noon
Moody sun paints the night dark.
Man talking rubbish as hell
Woman ringing gossips like bell
Without a seat, I am still able to sit
Without food, I am still able to eat
Wonder-filled so wonderful
I began to ask, am I a fool?

Suddenly I am alarmed
The alarm ringing sharp at 10:00am
I remember I set it at 7:00am
Oh…no…the clock overslept.

I am dead
My punch card will show red.

Huh.....I am awakened again before the dreadful
Thank is all but a dreamy track.

I packed myself with some dressing
Gently opened the door
Quite relaxed, I walked to my car
And…broommed to work.

In 5 minutes I am there at my office gate
The gate closed and I wondered, why?
The guard came and I asked, why closed?
The guard said, ‘This is Inception. It is now 6 pm’
I missed the day’s work

The alarm rang once again
I am alarmed again, once again
It is 7:00 am.

Time to get ready
Hope this too is not a dream.

©cyclopseven. All rights reserved 010710.