Chapter Thirty-one: Muddling in the Middling Crowd.

I disdain to do usual
Desire to break the mould
And yet the damndest thing is
Can't do without being told

 I've been taught to settle
Also yet to reflect
But methinks I dissemble
In displaying true intellect

Here I hear about sprinting ahead
But how does one apply?
Another talks about brilliance instead
But what does that signify?

I'll not call myself stupid
No need to go that far
BUt it eats at me like acid
'How much do you think you are...?'

 O tell me why we talk so much
Of the best pick of the cream?
Why when they're so out of touch
High up on the extreme?

Where will the crop be
Those of the middling crowd
Who're neither brilliant nor silly
But not like the cream endowed?

Chapter Thirty: Untangling.

Blinks an eye
Sitting on the horizon
By nothing but newness freshened
And at the panorama, widened


Listens the ear
A powerful tune resonate
From another's head donate
Breathlessly more await


Thinks the mind
Twisted pathways burning fire
Tangled thoughts aspire
Stoking up the need to rewire


Feels the heart
The strands of love inside
The fear that grips as time I bide
Courage, do you yet still hide?

Chapter Twenty-nine: Whited Sepulchre, Cast Not Your Stones.

You preach with your front and judge with your back
For others' reputations, you cut them no slack
You condemn such actions, reacting posthaste
And yet to these others, you give the same taste

Oh Hypocrite should be thy name indeed
In intention, in mind and also in deed
Such airs you put on, all holier-than-thou
And nary a slip for others' conduct you allow

How different are you, from those you denounce?
For like them, on such hurtful things do you pounce
Such accurate labels, such delicious dirt
And such snide judgements of people do you assert

'Tis ashamed I am, of people like you
Who talk of God, while doing what you do
Walk the talk, if you're going to preach
Else can the moral lessons; you ain't fit to teach.

Chapter Twenty-eight: Prayer.

Oh Lord, lead my feet 
For i know not where to go
Where the ends will meet
Where rich green pastures grow

Oh Lord, fill my heart
For i am as yet weak
When i am torn apart
Your strength do i seek

Oh Lord, walk with me
For i am always afraid
Tremblings of a nature
That i for myself made

Lord, give me succour
When i cannot go on
In Your arms will i be secure
Fear and anxiety begone

Lord, hear me pray
As i now write this verse
My fears, will You allay
As with You i converse

Almighty Lord, be my light
As in the dark i grope
Through the dangers of the night
Towards Your immaculate ray of hope.

Chapter Twenty-seven: Do Tell.

Tell me, is it truly over,
The ordeals of the day?
Tell me, is the night here
In harmony to stay?

Tell me why my heart beats
Fast and thus in pain
When a loss is no loss
And from that loss comes a gain

Tell me why I'm reluctant
To do what I feel I must
To give the cut direct
To lesions fouled with pus?

Tell me how I was swayed
After decisions were made
Why I think it might get better
When such a price is to be paid?

Tell me why I want to hold on
When I simply want to let go
Tell me about the contradiction
Tell me, why don't I know?

Chapter Twenty-six: A Cage of Conventions.

Twine these together,
Weave a cloth of fallacies
That I needs must use a blade
To pick apart such intricacies

Curse the rope of propriety
Binding this appendage
Plain brass gilded by conventions
Trapping such violent rage

They say there must needs be fire
Wherein be the stench of smoke
But of these allegations I tire
Be they not heart-felt

Does such a paradox
In thine eyes appear
When sight is laid
Upon this soul here?

Give me leave
To live in the best of both
To straddle sane and mad
Without such misgivings as I loathe.

Chapter Twenty-five: Pledge.

Here crash the waves
The undercurrent dark
Washes the rock at your feet
Carving its mark

Here the grim thoughts
That permeate your mind
Deep the web I fought
For you, solace I would find

Here are the tears
That seal our bonds
Crystalline dew
On eyelash fronds

Here is the time
That my mind met yours
In a dance, that swayed
Like a ballet of wars

And here is my cup
That I drink to thee
My pledge, my covenant
Far, yes, far, as far as we can see.

Chapter Twenty-four: On The Dearth of Judgment, Fortitude, and Fortune-a-leaky.

Tens of times doth my battle-call low
With each call came sharp pricks
Tens of times doth my fortitude grow
And beat them back with sticks.

Where shall I reach in the cavern of time
To seek sound judgment back?
Where the sugar to drown the lime
That's eating at my tact?

I see I was mistaken
For methinks I saw a wonderland
But here float shadows misshapen
Lord, help me understand.

Found myself looking through the wall
Strangely, I saw beyond
It works not then as a dead end should
But to my fascination, doth respond.

Squat I among the relics
The cracked pot turned to dust
And now a figurine, moulding
Yea, that be a must.

Contemplations 2: Ancient City of Ayutthaya. Thursday, 17.01.2010.

Weather: still mild.

Visited the ruins of Ayutthaya. I find it hard to reconcile the splendid city i saw in Sri Suriyothai with the poor, tumble-down houses now scattered in the formerly great city. Even sadder to know that Hongsa won the war in the end.

All i could think of, while wandering amidst broken towers of bricks, was 'Good, Lord, how on earth did they build these things?' and what sort of a war it must've been, for such a huge area to be torn down. here and there in the city you see a sudden bit of crumbling old wall labeled 'City Wall' and you know, once upon a time, these walls were the ones that kept the city's inhabitants safe within.

If modern man is great with all that he has, how much greater the man of old who made so much out of so little?

Tell me, how significant can a modern human being feel, standing next to these gargantuan edifices build by sweat and blood?

Some food for thought: the tour guide mentioned that monks (they're required to serve as monks for a certain period of time, all their men) enjoy watching sports, but arent allowed to watch ladies' gymnasticcs. too sexy. but if a monk's entire aim is to achieve the state where no earthly desires can bother him, what does it matter how sexy a woman is? why worry about temptation is you are beyond it?

On to the entertainments of the night.

Remember watching the dances of the previous night (of course you dont)?

On stage, all we see is a well prepared tale, narrated beautifully in a cultured voice, with all necessary characters and settings in place, rehearsed to run on time like a well wound clock.

This night, however, i watched not the dances, but was drawn into them; feeling the gentle rocking of a traditional barge, dancers twirling their fingers in the midst of the guests, simply adds on to the heady feeling that i'd felt as though i'd stepped a little bit back into time when royals enjoyed such entertainments. was it a little rush of excitement at watching hanuman chase after sita? while on stage, i felt a sort of detachment, as an audience watching a play, but to have hanuman prance before me, waving his, pardon me, ugly head about...

I watched those dancers slip into their costumes in a corner of the barge, simply because the barge was small and there was nowhere else for them to do so. an ordinary man and woman quickly throw on and tie different lengths of cloth, pin on trinkets, put on a mask. and behold, no longer mortal they be, but mythical princess and mighty deva.

How easy it is to switch personas. you simply step out of one into another, discarding each layer so easily. Such is the way of the stage.

But we do that in our lives, all the time, don't we?

Small wonder that we cry and laugh over what we see on stages and screens... do we recognize ourselves in art, even as it imitates life?

Or is it instead as Wilde would have it, the idea of life imitating art?

Contemplations 1: Bangkok, Wednesday, 16.01.2010.

Weather: mild, cloudy (to match a genial mood)

If ever i were amazed by art, this would most certainly be it.

Think: walls and ceilings covered in rich gilt (the guide assures me that its real gold), delicately set with tiny and tinier squares of glass, painstakingly carved wooden pillars etc, all handpainted in vibrant, glorious colour. (and lets not forget the brilliant wall canvas of scenes from the Ramayana painted onto, was it a 100 rooms of the Grand Palace? i forget. but breathtaking, nonetheless)

You see, they honour their king by building him marvelous palaces to represent his sovereignity (also having his portrait displayed in every conceivable place), because he is a symbol of the country they love, and in doing him homage they honour the country he stands for.

If ever i were awed by the love a people have for their country, this country would be a shining example of it.

I can feel the love of the people pouring out of the shining walls of their palaces, their temples, out of every soft 'sawatdee', and mostly, how sincerly polite and helpful they are to everyone, not just those who have yellow hair and white skin.

I watched a simple tour guide stoop down to pick up a milk box that a careless tourist'd tossed onto the palace grounds and put it in the bin. such a simple thing, really, but so profound.

With that, i can only conclude that the thai love their country very, very much. through the peoples' actions a country is reflected, and i can safely say that they have managed to honour their country in the highest degree, simply by showing courtesy and respect to others and therefore giving a good impression of themselves, and anything associated with them. something, unfortunately, that my own countrymen and women (never say i am sexist) lacks the ability to do.

It's only been my first day in Bangkok, but as you see, i've already found so many things malaysians could do well to learn from.

First of ALL: i would like to emphasize on the astonishment i felt on stepping out of the sky train (their version of our LRTs) to be greeted with a sea of people, neatly arranged in lines, all waiting for their turn to enter the big worm. no pushing, no shoving, no queue-jumping.

I am in awe. and in absolute disgust for my country people, who cannot so much as enter a doorway without some degree of pushing or squeezing.

Second: POLITE cab drivers! an absolute rarity in the bloody mess of roads that is kay elle, but seemingly common in bangkok. you definitely do not get any cabbies in kay elle deigning to open car doors for you.

Having said all that, i shall move on.

Visited a gem factory today, and by all accounts, it is under royal patronage. i watched several of the workmen at their craft, and i have to marvel that their rough, big fingers and primitive tools could create such delicate work. there was this craftsman moulding a flower on a stub of wood, slowly hammering away till he'd gotten the perfect shape, then hammering pinpricks into the surface, and painstakingly lay gold dots into them.

But how many of these craftsmen were there? three? four? precious few to continue what seems to be a dying art. while i am infinitely grateful for mass-produced costume jewelry (otherwise how would we all afford any?), it breaks my heart to think of how technology robs us of many traditional ways.

Still, while danger of repeating a cliche, i can only say, such is life, i suppose.