Every little thing counts

Big things small things
Which ones matter more?
How and why does it matter so?
A big race or a big day
A little courtesy or a little flame
All these matter in a different time or place.
Have you ever wondered when the big day will come?
For you to outdo, outlast and outperform yourself
Be the best you can be, an inner voice screams
You try your hardest but to no avail
The will is strong but the flesh is weak
That is perhaps when I learnt a great deal today
From the little things that matter most

It is not the big things that matter
But the small ones that count
Accumulated in abundance like a horde of ants
A single ant may seem insignificant and small
But an army of it can become a majestic sight
Like termites in a wooden house that slowly eat away
The foundation of a structure if left untouched
Like a relationship with flaws and cracks
When problems arise and left unsolved
It slowly devours and meticulously plots
To destroy the very love that exists
Filling the void with hatred and words unkind
Till all that remains is nothing

Never leave things as they are
No matter how small they could be
Sometimes it is simplest of things
We cannot see because we are blind
Not by the eyes but by the heart
That clouds the mind and distorts the soul
Open your heart and your mind

A one sided affair

He walks nervous onto the stage.
Every creak with each step he takes
The final moment is dawn upon
As he stands firm at the grandeur of the hall.
The light flickers against the wooden walls
Every grain every line with history to tell.
Rose colored seats adjoined as one
rows and rows of crimson red.

He closes his eyes as he imagines
An audience awaits for the melodious sound.
He loosens his throat and deepens his breath.
As he times the right moment to impress
with all his past hidden emotions kept far at bay.

With burning desire to express his forlorn love,
a bursting passion suffices within him.
He lets out a voice angelic and pure.
As all around stay hypnotized by his song.
Some tear while some sob
As they endear themselves to his sad plight.
The expression of love to the one he belongs.
Songs of admiration and dear,
hopeful for a lovely reply.

The melody ends and he holds his breath.
A moment of silence as he waits,
biting his lips till they bleed.
Nothing!
Nothing!
Nothing!
He opens his eyes.
Alas he is but a fool.
A voice of a century is heard
Yet only an empty hall hears his song.
A one sided affair indeed.

Harvest Time

An empty field it once was
A farmer came and toiled the lands
He tilted the soil and nourished the lands
Pouring within the gift of life
Love and care, a nurturing feel
Luscious grass and blossoming flowers
Morning dew against the sun rays
Misty droplets cloud the dusky moon
A wonder a sight for all to see
Blissful and peace in every seed

A moment’s neglect and a twinkle of an eye
The beautiful turned into the ugly
A beast came upon and ravaged the land
Planted his weeds and treacherous thorns
He robbed and stole
He cheated and beguiled
The innocent land of its pride and joy
Coercion and force upon he came
Raped the land of all its innocence

The farmer returns in shock and anguish
To see his land ravished and torn
The beast fights hard to protect what is “his”
Who really owns the piece of land?
The farmer or the beast
Or does it run free as one should choose
To be able to choose who it wants to own
Between the right or the wrong
A choice to be made amongst the two
Choices have consequences!

A victim by circumstances or a victim by choice

As we plough through the days of life as wandering souls, plodding through the remains of what our ancestors left. Is it not sad that we as Man, live half our lives in books and the other chasing dreams that seem impossible to many yet we still believe that with a whimper and hope that someday we might or could become, living a realistic picture of our idealisic dream.

Perfect as what some might call. A perfect life made up of a perfect house, a perfect car, a perfect career, a perfect relationship and a perfect dream. Is it not ironic that should we live by such dreams in an imperfect world, we become imperfect through its very existence.

It is often easy to blame, complain and make excuses about how unhappy our life really is. Traffic jams, not enough money, rising cost of living, unreasonable people, backstabbing colleagues and the list goes on and on. It is so easy for us to push the blame to things out of our locus of control, that makes us feel better for a moment but when we awaken from our dream of blame, we get rudely awaken from our slumber of excuses.

Most never get to solve their problems and wind themselves out of misery because they choose to be in such a state. Human beings are such sadistic things, we like to watch movies that make us cry. We like to watch others in pain once in a while. Perhaps we too choose to feel sorry for ourselves when things don't go our way.

SO REALLY, are we a victim by circumstance or a victim by choice.