I have stood here
well before
stayed a while
remaining all along
I remember how
I came to be
when I arrived
and still remain
I am here
ever since
still here
standing still.
looking around
things evolve
people change
nothing remains
no one does
nothing will
times change
fate's refrain
but I am here
in this place
upon the same
standing still.
with every step
of every feet
I will return
to the same
to this place
to this game
no matter how
which way or when
in the end
I am here again
standing still.
Everything I do
everyone I meet
every dream I have
every hope I tried
every bit of me
all of it will be
soon and always
come again
to this very place
to this now and then
everything will end
with me right here
standing still.
The Charge of The Rohirrim
- Thursday, December 02, 2004
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Behold! a mighty host,
high upon the circling crests.
Upon the hills that ringed,
where Pelennor Field does rest.
Upon a cock's crow,
the errant break of dawn.
The winds that blew,
the darkness Mordor spawned.
Then time reins in,
gently, as if to still.
As a single trumpet blows,
enveloping soo shrill.
The call of Rohan's brave,
in aid to Gondor's plight.
A sea of valiant horsemen,
that rode in through the night.
Behold upon his noble steed,
mighty Snowmane.
Rides Theoden,
Rohan's liege and rightful thain.
With his golden shield,
his banner wildly flying.
Like Eorl of old,
in the battles that legend sings.
The white horse,
upon an emerald field.
Flying upon spears,
that noble warriors wield.
Rows upon rows of riders,
a sight that never fails.
To raise the spirits of friends,
and make their enemies quail.
The faithful sons of Eorl,
what a sight to see.
Warriors both fair and tall,
and as fell in battle's lee.
With sword and shield,
spear and battle trained mount.
Their visage grim,
but their battle cries are sung.
Then noble Theoden,
did roused up the ranks.
With his speech of battles,
glories and honours hence.
To remember their pledge,
to Gondor as is their wont.
To fullfil their oath,
and duty to friendship sworn.
And in the end he did stand up,
in the stirrups of his steed.
"Ride!" he cries,
so mighty and clear indeed.
And as he the first to ride,
in the forefront and vanguard.
Trumpet calls rang out,
to signal this mighty charge.
As one the riders rode,
as thunder their battle rage.
As a mighty wave they roll,
in a crash to consume and engage.
The very ground doth shake,
shiver, tremble and eviscerate.
The fury of their charge,
is terrible to create.
And yet what awe, what majesty,
upon this glorious deed.
As the riders rode with fury,
upon their mighty steeds.
Their courage, their grandeur,
doth fills the heart ablaze.
With the voice of valour,
and a touch of gallant grace.
high upon the circling crests.
Upon the hills that ringed,
where Pelennor Field does rest.
Upon a cock's crow,
the errant break of dawn.
The winds that blew,
the darkness Mordor spawned.
Then time reins in,
gently, as if to still.
As a single trumpet blows,
enveloping soo shrill.
The call of Rohan's brave,
in aid to Gondor's plight.
A sea of valiant horsemen,
that rode in through the night.
Behold upon his noble steed,
mighty Snowmane.
Rides Theoden,
Rohan's liege and rightful thain.
With his golden shield,
his banner wildly flying.
Like Eorl of old,
in the battles that legend sings.
The white horse,
upon an emerald field.
Flying upon spears,
that noble warriors wield.
Rows upon rows of riders,
a sight that never fails.
To raise the spirits of friends,
and make their enemies quail.
The faithful sons of Eorl,
what a sight to see.
Warriors both fair and tall,
and as fell in battle's lee.
With sword and shield,
spear and battle trained mount.
Their visage grim,
but their battle cries are sung.
Then noble Theoden,
did roused up the ranks.
With his speech of battles,
glories and honours hence.
To remember their pledge,
to Gondor as is their wont.
To fullfil their oath,
and duty to friendship sworn.
And in the end he did stand up,
in the stirrups of his steed.
"Ride!" he cries,
so mighty and clear indeed.
And as he the first to ride,
in the forefront and vanguard.
Trumpet calls rang out,
to signal this mighty charge.
As one the riders rode,
as thunder their battle rage.
As a mighty wave they roll,
in a crash to consume and engage.
The very ground doth shake,
shiver, tremble and eviscerate.
The fury of their charge,
is terrible to create.
And yet what awe, what majesty,
upon this glorious deed.
As the riders rode with fury,
upon their mighty steeds.
Their courage, their grandeur,
doth fills the heart ablaze.
With the voice of valour,
and a touch of gallant grace.
Old Man Winter
- Thursday, December 02, 2004
- Write comment
Grey you are,
as winter is to my spring,
this gulf of years,
that does separate us as beings
Yet among our peers,
you are the youngest it seems,
in thoughts, acts and vision,
you are most energetic I deem.
You are a paradox I glance,
old in age wise in experience,
yet young at heart,
and always fresh in idioms.
As a father you are,
to us all the saplings,
giving good guidance,
gracious words and gentle chidings.
With all your counted winnings
this is perhaps your most,
you are a man enriched,
by giving your heart is embossed.
As I trod upon my path,
I bid farewell, adieu,
I wish you all the best,
my one and buddy true.
as winter is to my spring,
this gulf of years,
that does separate us as beings
Yet among our peers,
you are the youngest it seems,
in thoughts, acts and vision,
you are most energetic I deem.
You are a paradox I glance,
old in age wise in experience,
yet young at heart,
and always fresh in idioms.
As a father you are,
to us all the saplings,
giving good guidance,
gracious words and gentle chidings.
With all your counted winnings
this is perhaps your most,
you are a man enriched,
by giving your heart is embossed.
As I trod upon my path,
I bid farewell, adieu,
I wish you all the best,
my one and buddy true.
Contemplations
- Wednesday, November 24, 2004
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As I sat alone
through the motions of days
my gaze oftime wandered
inside, deep within me
and for a brief, lonely moment
I sometime would catch a glimpse
a faded image from a dream.
Upon remnant splinters
broken mirrors of self cognition
I thought I saw what I was
what I used to be
am I still?
A slightly handsome lad
whose confidence filled his words
overweight he might
but dreams does let him fly.
Upon stars his hopes were pinned
charging boldly the unconquerable nights
the sun emblazoned upon his heart
as he struggles to encompass the days
before the coming of twillight.
A poet at heart
a soul of longing and love
sensitive to the touch
to the feel and taste of life.
Armoured in perfect reason
and armed with fearful logic
he would ever stood his ground
upon whatever topic.
What ambitions he had
to grasp this world as his
no distance would dare
nor contentions to his prowess.
As a Colossus he stood
once among his peers
a stern and mighty figure
who led the vanguard crests.
He lived ever for the challenge
to bravely dare the world
for the worst and craven he seeks
to turn the tides and in turn defeats.
Where goes the confidence?
Where goes the dreams?
Where goes the hopes?
Where hides this lad?
For indeed I see him not
but for glimpses that may
those lonely nostalgic moments
when memories are out at play.
I sometimes wish for him
to remember if mine's the name
the pride of all that was
and the remnants of what may
the remains of what I was
used to be
was I ever?
am I still?
Alas he slips about
to appear once and only slight
but to disappear into the dark
and hence to vanish into the night.
through the motions of days
my gaze oftime wandered
inside, deep within me
and for a brief, lonely moment
I sometime would catch a glimpse
a faded image from a dream.
Upon remnant splinters
broken mirrors of self cognition
I thought I saw what I was
what I used to be
am I still?
A slightly handsome lad
whose confidence filled his words
overweight he might
but dreams does let him fly.
Upon stars his hopes were pinned
charging boldly the unconquerable nights
the sun emblazoned upon his heart
as he struggles to encompass the days
before the coming of twillight.
A poet at heart
a soul of longing and love
sensitive to the touch
to the feel and taste of life.
Armoured in perfect reason
and armed with fearful logic
he would ever stood his ground
upon whatever topic.
What ambitions he had
to grasp this world as his
no distance would dare
nor contentions to his prowess.
As a Colossus he stood
once among his peers
a stern and mighty figure
who led the vanguard crests.
He lived ever for the challenge
to bravely dare the world
for the worst and craven he seeks
to turn the tides and in turn defeats.
Where goes the confidence?
Where goes the dreams?
Where goes the hopes?
Where hides this lad?
For indeed I see him not
but for glimpses that may
those lonely nostalgic moments
when memories are out at play.
I sometimes wish for him
to remember if mine's the name
the pride of all that was
and the remnants of what may
the remains of what I was
used to be
was I ever?
am I still?
Alas he slips about
to appear once and only slight
but to disappear into the dark
and hence to vanish into the night.
Poetic Purgatory
- Monday, November 08, 2004
- Write comment
Caged beyond my modest means,
lies the crypt of great intentions,
of gilded edges and marbled gleams,
present happiness and tall ambitions.
Within the cemetary of dead dreams,
I find my one and true salvation,
the purgatory of poetic schemes,
where sleeps unlived, my self expression.
Buried I lie soiled, unclaimed,
a soul in longing and shackled privation,
doomed forever to only glimpse,
what life is, was and future portions.
Entombed under the burdens within,
buried by stones, diverse contentions,
awaiting the end with counted chagrin,
languishing in words and poetic mentations.
lies the crypt of great intentions,
of gilded edges and marbled gleams,
present happiness and tall ambitions.
Within the cemetary of dead dreams,
I find my one and true salvation,
the purgatory of poetic schemes,
where sleeps unlived, my self expression.
Buried I lie soiled, unclaimed,
a soul in longing and shackled privation,
doomed forever to only glimpse,
what life is, was and future portions.
Entombed under the burdens within,
buried by stones, diverse contentions,
awaiting the end with counted chagrin,
languishing in words and poetic mentations.
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