Repertoire

“Poetry is a life-cherishing force. For poems are not words, after all, but fires for the cold, ropes let down to the lost, something as necessary as bread in the pockets of the hungry.” 
― Mary Oliver

The best things are not forced,
but they come through the rhythms of Grace.
A grace-filled heartbeat,
a love-filled pace,
a cultivated patience,
an effortless beauty.

The secure gaze untempered by fear,
the reach of kindness unsullied by self,
the attentive ear unfazed by pride.

A whole life
Is
To be
wholly Thine.

Lapis lazuli

Plumes of 'what ifs'
once fill but slowly dissipates
engulfed under the firmament of His sovereignty.

Euphrosyne

“We know no time when we were not as now..” 
― John Milton, Paradise Lost

Just when I thought Shakespeare was tough,
John Milton makes a special appearance at this point of my life.
The intertwining of Latin and Greek in his verses is enough for me to pull my hair out.
Besides Milton, William Faulkner's breakthrough performance cannot be undermined,
I only wish I started out on both these authors when I was younger.
For now, it's reading, reading and more reading.

Why did I choose literature again?
My love, my bane.

Indeed

It's the small things.
The extra hold on the door,
the quickened driving pace,
the gaze in "how are you?",
the few words that stuck,
the kiss on the cheek,
extra utensil in my luggage,
the sigh in "I miss you.",
the grip on my hand,
the little, not so little 'extras'.

One heart desire, one's heart Desire,
where all my springs are in You.

Closure

Belum Rainforest, April 2016.

Of a missing loved one, of severed friendships, of a broken off love relationship...
does time heal?
It helps the emotion settle, but perhaps just like sediments, it's stirred up by the slightest movement and mention about it.
About him, about her.

You can't unlove a person,
you can never forget them (or replace them?)...

But what I will, what I must, what I did and had to do,
is to trust them (thrust them?) to You,
loving them continually,
yet, letting them go from my helpless,
human all too human clasp,
and desperate grasp.

O, sweet surrender,
the centre of Your will, my home.

Onomatopoiea

Auschwitz-Birkenau, December 2015

“If you can't see His way past the tears, trust His heart.” 
― D.L. Moody

Being at this site set a motion in my heart that has never stopped beating, working, churning still.
Questions, answerless questions (yet not useless ones) began to resonate deep -
Who is God? What is man? 
At the deepest, most tragic of human suffering,
where illusions are shattered,
and romanticised views of God, of people, of ourselves are lost,
emerges an only Way,
a precious Truth,
a far dearer Life.

Human Relationships

No matter how long you've anticipated a loved one's death,
nothing will prepare you for the moment it hits home.
The hurt, the pain, the loss, the void.

The tenderness of love,
the severity of love,
and all of its tension - the stretches, the tugging, the pulls and the strain.
Oh, yet the joy, the delight, the simple pleasures
of mystery.

Not the jaded, mere existence of familiarities,
habitual dependence, leeching of one another,
taking each for granted.

To love in Your Love,
to love with Your Love,
let Yours abound,
abundantly, lavishly.