Heart Controller

Age with infamous Time and a bit of coincidence, Led to the twisted establishment of rare people, Soon to become in moralities: identical, forgetful, In imaging techniques: extraordinary, deplorable, In personality: questions and absolute confusions, Many whom I have walked past; none have I met, And so I be, a person shaped into another being, These long-lasting writing have almost tricked me, No further will I generate a personality out of me, Personifying a personification I found on the streets, If so be it, me - an individual of you, quite homeless. Sunday, 19th of June 2011

Haah , a circular trend on a transparent window, A dot here and another with a concave up; smile, Haah , a bigger geometrical shape yet so similar, A heart and a moment of calm, nothing to recall. Haah , boredom overcame my numb emotions, Wiping the window with two fingers; very chilly, Haah , this time onto my fine fingertips to warm, Then gazing outside at tonight’s busy city streets. Haah , a talented sigh measuring pitch of sounds, The driver on my left, a friend, took a right turn, Haah , it was his’, louder with a deep emphasis, I guess he was tired of driving for a day’s journey. Sunday, 12th of June 2011

I observed my kind hands for over twenty-three years, But not as erudite as in the past four exquisite weeks, I touched the high ceilings and walked on warm roofs, Or so I tried as if no books to read or learn or lecture, Rather, reasons did encircle the everlasting calligraphy, Thus, under today’s wise men I pursue deep footprints, With the delicate women’s hands in the field observing, Together, an elegant team; hand unit at Sydney Hospital. Tuesday, 7th of June 2011

His questions came out of nowhere as if now and here, I stood on a wooden bridge in the middle of somewhere, Yes, it was here and now that his power and pride rose, Against the vulnerable circle of life living another century. He asked me about the twelve months of our short year, I answered with alphanumerical equations signifying nil, Yes, short but nothing of great importance for his likes, To him life and death are but particles of grains of sand. He asked me about twenty four hours and a day’s misery, Rather rhetorical, or that what it seemed for I was silent, Yes, hours of rhetorical movements of his limbs on lands, And slaves of the fields invade this little wooden bridge. Wednesday, 1st of June 2011