A Book of Poems

By Eugene Low

To Eliot
The written and visual artistic master

To Jason
The first step in correcting the disaster

To Li Sha
The one who had read

To Liana
The comments had been said

To Pia
The final grammatical plaster


Time: something which can be anything depending on your perception. It could be everything or nothing. It could be slow or fast. It could merely be a symbol or a measurement with which we record our lives or even a physical phenomenon existing in the fourth dimension.

As a measurement,
Each decade has 10 years.
Each year has 365 1/4 days.
Those 365 1/4 days are distributed among 12 months.
Each month has 30 to 31 days except February which has either 28 or 29 days.
December has 31 days.
31 days have 744 hours.
744 hours have 44640 minutes.
44640 minutes have 2678400 seconds.

By changing the units it looks as though it is a lot. It is. A month is a lot. It is only 1/207 of the other months I have lived through. It is as though it is insignificant.

Why December?
Because it is a period of transformation. For me. For everyone. December is always the month of transformation. It is the end of the year, the last month of the twelve.

Why December 2007?
It is between the end of a life I got used to and the beginning of a new one. Transformation is partially the theme of this book. And like all things, we too change and transform.

Day 1

The First Day

Outing (01/12/2007)

Gave my mind a vacation,
Gave it some free time,
Overtime for creation,
Was nothing more than a crime.

As it wandered around,
Things to my sight were new,
Inspiration was around,
And with a different hue.

Like the cool fountain,
Refreshing the link,
Like the breezy mountain,
Soothing the sync.

When it all comes down,
In both present and past,
In which I now drown,
With enough ideas to last.

This is the first entry. The beginning as they call it. Everything has to start from somewhere. For me, I start on the first day in December. Today breezed through like the gentle evening winds.

I do love beginnings. Most of the time it starts slowly, much like this one. No matter how small it is, everything starts from something. And from that little speck of white, it will snowball into an avalanche.

I opened the door and went outside to taste the fresh air. I let my mind wander about. I felt as though I was high, as though the whole world was being seen in a different view. With all the colourful lights around me, it lit up a spark.

I opened the door and that was my beginning.

Day 2

Hobbling in the Second

Effortless (02/12/2007)

Something so simple,
Some slightly significant,
Some secondary.

Looks little like less,
Lowly laboured little life,
Longing lots labour.

Enough energy,
Essential effort enforced,

Even everything,
Enormous either elfin,
Entails exercise.

Perceive properly,
Product postulate power,
Peril present pain.

In a blink of an eye, the second day is here. And that one blink takes around eight hours for me. It was truly a blink as my dreams and nightmares were not present.

A blink of an eye is all it takes to clarify something. At first sight, the world can be a blur. The eyes cannot interpret in the first glimpse. It takes some time to absorb it. Most of the time, we underestimate the complexity of a certain thing.

Until we realise it. Or it is pointed out. Only until we stare long enough at that one thing for an obscenely long time and take a brief moment to ponder upon it we will be able to understand.

Ignorance is bliss. Knowledge is power. And curiosity has killed many cats.

Day 3

Enter The Third

Senses (03/12/2007)

The eyes the world they see,
The nose is able to smell,
The tongue can taste it all,
That this place is not too well.

The skin it feels the pain,
The pressure, heat and cold,
It tells you when you're in trouble,
Or when you're too bold.

The ears they hear the evil,
Also the sound of good,
But turn down if they want,
When hear the sound of rude.

All senses upon a face,
Spots the feelings before,
That way you will know,
That way you cannot ignore.

I peek from the corner of my eye and notice a strange sensation. A strong feeling tells me that this is a different day. It tells me that where I am is not somewhere I often go but I have been here before.

I see colourful lights, tables, chairs, people, decorations, screens and food.
I smell food, perfume, cologne and the cold air of a conditioned area.
I taste food of different combinations of sour, sweet, salty and bitter.
I hear conversations, music, clinks, shuffling, voices and footsteps.
I feel the coldness, cloth, glass, water, skin and metal.

We rely on these sense to navigate our existence. Apart from all the good, it can also do the same for the bad. Ironically it is good that our sense pick up the bad. If not, we would never know.

Day 4

Then The Forth

Cyber (04/12/2007)

Artificial, the way of life,
Flying cars and a robot wife,
Work is reduced; increasing fats,
And end up being worse than rats.

Labour is done without a move,
No one's better; nothing to prove,
Tee vee the rule of the book,
People would sit, obey and look.

All these creations they will make,
Will make this life even more fake,
Than how it is presently, now,
When they are still using a plough.

However we do really need,
Bodies from which mercury bleed,
In order to ease any job,
Of which time will be there to rob.

The future; a place of tomorrow, where people see possibilities to look forward to. A place where dreams become reality for the optimistic ones. The future, the near-synonym of hope as most choose to believe.

These were words of which I typed while I switched between screens on the computer. It does not belong to me however; I have rented this computer for the time being in order to entertain myself with graphics which are ours to control. I am not alone though, I am out with a group of nine as we fictionally shoot each other on the screens using nothing but a mouse and a keyboard.

At the same time, I could be sending messages to people, reading the news, ordering food and so much more. Is this how the world will be in the future? Will we just sit down on our chairs, in front of a box to do our daily chores?

A headshot. I guess I should concentrate on the other thing rather than typing my thoughts. Maybe there will be machines in the future which will think for you. Who knows?

Day 5

Holding The Fifth

Names (05/12/2007)

What are you to do,
To get your sign in blue,
Right up there in lights,
In front of all sights?

Are you really keen,
To get on the screen,
So you would be known,
And you would be shown?

Why does it matter?
You are no better,
You would be a trend,
Until the very end.

What were you to do,
If you were to chew,
More than you can bite?
You can't make it right.

I have a name. It is my identity. I live with it as long as I am alive and I will be buried under it. My name is Eugene. You should probably know that by now. Everything has a name to classify itself.

What if none of us had names? What if we were all just Janes and Johns of the world? How would we get around? How would we know when we are being called? What would happen to famous people? What would happen to gossip? I pondered these questions as I strayed from the group momentarily.

Sometimes you feel the need to be alone for a short while to clear your head. Then all thoughts faded away as they called my name.

Day 6

Inside The Sixth

Uncontrollable (06/12/2007)

There is always something,
Heard in songs we sing,
That a certain feeling,
Will keep on coming.

No matter what I say,
At the end of the day,
I am still human in a way,
With all the flaws to stay.

I will still be an addict,
There is nothing to predict,
Myself I will afflict,
And I will contradict.

I will not let down my guard,
Even though a certain card,
Will make it really hard,
For this little bard.

It grows inside, that strong sensation I try to fight. It enhances my senses in certain unexplainable ways. I can feel my heart pounding against my chest. My head spinning from the air I breathe. My eyelids droop above my eyes. I am an insomniac, tired yet not sleepy. Blood is pumping quickly through my veins. Lights, I see them clearly from the screen as they glare into my eyes. I can feel my heart pacing inside my head. I can feel my eyes going moist from the light. I feel like I am about to faint on top of my keyboard. My thoughts are not even present, fleeing away from the situation. Am I dead?

My feelings arise once more. I am only human after all. I have my flaws.

Day 7

Reaching The Seventh

Thumbs Up (07/12/2007)

There is a tale with no happy ending,
With a storyline of many bending,
And it starts with a boy who had this thumb,
Which one day in the cold got really numb.

His opposable finger grew quite big,
And certainly as pink as a fat pig,
It weighed almost as much as a whole ton,
And it could block his face from the bright sun.

His thumb stayed that way until he grew old,
Because of that everything he had sold,
He became a poor who sat by the road,
Waiting for the day his thumb will explode.

However instead of that came the twist,
His thumb became too heavy for his wrist,
And down on his body it came on top,
And flat on the ground dead he would just drop.

The hospital is not a scary place at all. Sure the coughing from patients, the blood on the clothes, pointy needles, agonising screams, strange-looking characters, dangerous-looking tools and suspicious-looking rooms may be worrying, but looking past those, it is not that scary.

I sat there patiently, waiting for my turn. Children ran by past me, giggling with joy. Me? I was sick. It was not life-threatening but it was life-changing. It was here from birth and it was here to stay. I accepted it.

Then, my name was called. I walked towards the second room. Children ran around me. I envied them.

Day 8

There Goes The Eighth

Rhyming Words (08/12/2007)

My face hidden beyond the word,
Buried so deep, I cannot be heard,
I yell between the letters I read,
So loud until I begin to bleed.

Where am I? Between a book?
I glance around to take a look,
Lost I am I begin to wonder,
Where am I piled up under?

Up and down I start to pace,
Cramped up in this small space,
Struggling around, trying to move,
I have not got anything to prove.

Forever am I going to be lost?
And is this going to cost?
My money, my life and also my time,
Trapped beneath my very own rhyme.

Trapped; to be caught in something
(To be trapped in something)
Dedicated; to be committed to something
(To be trapped in something by choice)
Obsessed; to be compulsively concerned with something
(To be trapped in something by compulsions)

There is a fine line between dedication and obsession. One just sounds better than the other; however one can turn into the other.

I show very little dedication in my work and even less in my obsession. I am, however, trapped in my own inspirations, my own ideas which swim around in my head. I do not control them, they control me. Wild imaginations, constant dreams and stalking muses.

Day 9

Yet Another For Nine

Lost and Found (9/12/2007)

Part 1: Place of Meeting

Out of the many places,
There's only one with the faces.

Faces once common before,
Of people we used to adore.

We met each other again,
A friendship will remain.

And forget we will not,
Of that very meeting spot.

Part 2: Lost in Crowd

People here they gather,
Yet we don't meet each other.

No matter how near we are,
We are still quite far.

I haven't got a clue,
I am unable to find you.

To myself I keep lying,
That's why I am still trying.

I stood in line. The line was long. I had been waiting for a while now. The line inched closer and soon there were just two more people away from my turn. Then I saw a familiar face pass by. There was a decision to be made. I decided to wait and get the job done before rushing off. I ran towards the direction of where she went. This place was where we met once more two years ago. I dashed as fast as I could. I managed to spot her. She walked into the crowd. I followed after her. I looked around in the midst of many people. Where had she gone? I took ten minutes to look around before I had to leave.

Day 10

Only The Tenth

Misters (10/12/2007)

Mr Green

In the shadows it will follow,
The part of your heart which remains hollow,
Filling up with a substance of green,
The second feeling which makes you mean.

You might not be the one who's right,
But simply because of your own spite,
You jump onto the train of notion,
Which causes the process to be in motion.

And the only thing you'll do to the beast,
Is give it a wonderful feast,
As it watches you fall to the floor,
As over you the shame will pour.

Mr Red

Charges inside of your very soul,
Powered up by blackened coal,
Enraging the thoughts in the head,
Not to be confused by the lighter red.

Blurring visions in your eyes,
You will spot nothing but lies,
Seeing only what it wants to,
Making yourself think it's true.

In the end only damage is done,
And there is an absence of fun,
Creating satisfaction for a moment,
But regret will not be dormant.

Mr Yellow

When nothing is done or said,
And your courage is dead,
Nothing will ever occur,
If that is what you really prefer.

All the time you are going to take,
Your body has started to shiver and shake,
And when you are finally going to try,
Everything has begun to fly.

You are not completely wrong,
Yet you think you are not strong,
You are just a little pup,
Too easily do you give up.

I wandered around in the billiard room, examining the craftsmanship of the billiard table when all of a sudden the door barged open. “Professor, Professor, Dr. Boddy is dead,” cried the servant, Mrs White. We all gathered in the middle of the second floor where Dr. Boddy’s body was found. Everyone at the party gathered around. There were six of us, Colonel Mustard, Miss Scarlett, Mr Green, Mrs Peacock, Mrs White and finally I, Professor Plum. We were all separated to various locations to find for clues. I started with the outside of the conservatory. We all had different ideas about who could not have done it, where it could not have been done and what weapon it could not have been.

Thirty minutes through and we gave a few suggestions, which were argued against. We crossed out various locations, weapons and people and finally it narrowed down. As I approached the study, Miss Scarlett came in my way. She was looking very suspicious. In the end, she made her way and I entered the study to clarify something. My thoughts were accurate. I faced the floor and accused Mr Green who had used a candlestick to kill Dr. Boddy in the Ballroom. All the proof pointed to him and he was arrested. Our game of Cluedo ended.

Day 11

Next Is The Eleventh

Within Ten (11/12/2007)

We all choose our own road,
The way we go, our own mode,
It is our choice, where we will end,
To take the turn or swerve the bend.

Every choice we are making now,
Determines the future and its how,
Life has laid out a few to pick,
And we should take it fast and quick.

Plan and more paths will appear,
If not chaos will be severe,
Select a way without a pause,
And see what it will cause.

I made mine while this I write,
At this very moment, in the night,
Something will happen, I am told,
But only the future will hold.

I never like making decisions at the last minute. I prefer to analyse and predict the upcoming events before making one. However I have made some on-the-spot decisions lately and it has been turning out pretty good.

However, the effect now can differ from the bigger picture. The future holds the outcome of our lives. My decision right now is to write this in a state of sleepiness which is unbearable to withstand. I think what I am writing might be nonsense. But, who knows? This might turn out differently for the people who are reading it.

Day 12

Extract The Twelfth

Getting Ready (12/12/2007)

Dress Up

Put on a suit, a coat with a tail,
Or would you wear rusty mail,
Shoes or sandals on your feet,
Trying to make yourself look neat.

Carry behind you a fancy pack,
Maybe a white shirt on your back,
Scarf around your pretty neck,
Pants on legs? Better check.

Better prepare a few jackets,
Little socks in little packets,
As soon as myself I dress,
I will go somewhere, I guess.

Today was the last and the largest gathering of people whom I studied with in the same institution of education. It was also the last day for anyone who wanted to express themselves before it was too late. For me, I went around talking to people whom I would probably seldom or never even see for a long time. I never did infatuate with anyone from school.

The Waiting

Can you feel the pain?
Of waiting in vain,
For the train,
In the rain.

That sensation I know,
But when will I go,
The train is slow,
And there is snow.

I believe I am bold,
Outside in cold,
As I still hold,
A ticket with mould.

Long have I been set,
Though I am slightly wet,
With a little sweat,
And tired I bet.

But the train is not here,
More waiting, I fear,
Wait for me dear,
Maybe next year.

The room feels empty. Such an absurd statement seeing that it is empty. I have a can of beer in my hand. I am not at home. A couple of friends and I rented this hotel room for a night because of the event which occurred prior. I decided to take a quick rest and have a moment to myself before the rest return.

Clock strikes midnight. There is a knock at the door. My alone time is up. The after-party is about to start.

Day 13

Disaster On The Thirteenth

Tempted (13/12/2007)

A power so strong it draws you in,
You may not laugh, but maybe grin,
It may just make you drink some gin,
And then your whole world may just spin.

It is too strong, the lives it takes,
Beckoning you in, the evil it makes,
Like little sneaky slithering snakes,
Creating danger and higher stakes.

Though you still do attempt it,
Knowing there is the evil bit,
And upon it you will just sit,
Never are you able to just quit.

I woke up in agonising pain. Last night was a blur... The first thing I did when I thought I had amnesia was remember my name. My name was clear to me. Wait... I remembered something. I could smell alcohol. Senses triggered memories and they did well. Ouch. Something was throbbing in my head, pounding hard on my cranium. My eyes opened and I found myself staring into a dustbin filled with wrappers and cans. The stench was horrible. My stomach felt bloated. I checked the time. It was only two in the morning.

That was my morning. My afternoon was not so great either as I was practically awake the whole morning. So I took a nap after consuming some charcoal pills. It is night now and I am feeling much better. I had fun though before the aches.

Day 14

A Fourteen

Seven Sins (14/12/2007)

Like fairy dust,
Going with a gust,
Not really a must,
Love without trust.

There is no harmony,
Eating without company,
Such a felony,
Tasted muttony.

Starts with a seed,
Then it will breed,
And it will feed,
Upon any need.

To be loath,
Showing no growth,
To take an oath,
Doing no both.

There is no laugh,
You lose your path,
Stop in the half,
In a bloodbath.

Like poison ivy,
Green and leavy,
Heart so heavy,
Secretly in privy.

Without guide,
Walking with stride,
In your ride,
As you glide.

Something is not truly a living being until it commits these. There is nothing in this world which has the capability of thinking, unlike a baby, which has not committed that which we call sins.

I guess in order to eliminate these sins; we have to get rid of everything which I say would make a pretty boring place after. Is it not easier to live with what we have than try to obsessively to correct every mistake? Contributing a little can help to create balance.

Nothing is perfect in both perceptions of evil and good. We are human. We have our flaws.

Day 15

Yelling For Fifteen

He Ran Away (15/12/2007)

He is gone, not coming back,
I saw him leave his little shack,
Out of the comfort and into the wild,
Leaving everything as he smiled.

He kept on staring up high,
Before letting out a sigh,
Leaving behind all he had,
But he looked as though he was glad,
With that smirk on his face,
Leaving all without a trace.

To me it was like a theft,
Just as soon as he left,
I do not know how he will be,
Less happy for him to be free,
I know him well enough,
This is not at all a bluff,
He knew his heart could not be won,
For he goes by the name of John.

With reference to:

John (20/06/2006)

John, oh, John, forget the past,
You know it would never last,
So why do you still recall the day,
When the words were fresh in the month of May.

As a friend, I am advising you,
A friend who knows as I went through,
The same events as you did too,
And I tell you it was all true.

A bullet to the broken heart?
A piece of letter being torn apart?
I once lived the life of love,
Now I looked down instead above.

Oh, but you, my good pal John,
Please do not let go, please hold on,
Just let time carry by,
‘Cause I know that, cause you am I.

Well, it’s hard to put it in words; the most cliched line. But it is true. How can you truly express a feeling and place it into an arrangement of letters? It is close to impossible. It is even hard for it to be written when you know it will bring sadness. I cannot bear to tell you face to face. So, I am writing this to you. I am going to leave now. Nothing will change my mind about my departure. I have caused too much trouble too even though you cannot see it. I wish you well for the future because you need it more than me.
1-2-1, 2-3-1, 3-4-1


That letter was found on the table at about six in the morning. I guess he was serious but I am going to find him anyway. My friend decided to tag along. And so we’re on our journey.

Day 16

Only Sixteen

Weather (16/12/2007)

Dark clouds in the sky,
Simply rolling by,
Under the yellow sun,
Where the rays run.

Lightning strikes the earth,
Upon nature's constant birth.

Repairable damage,
Its future's passage,
Healing the hurt,
Upon its dirt.

Restoration of many lives,
Like bees fixing their hives.

Only A Cover For A Friend (16/12/2007)

Guy sitting near me,
Going to sing this poem,
But he is a fool.

He will sing in tune,
But it will be deafening,
It will kill us all.

High pitched voice of doom,
Shattering all the glasses.
Till he cannot speak.

It is the second day in my quest to seek John. We are crashing at a friend’s place. Both of them do not know about this mission because it only involves me. The rest of them were being creative and comparing artistic works. Both of them are more into visual art. As for me, I am next to them with my blue notepad, writing. My accomplice who followed me here is rather annoying and likes to sing what I have written. Overall, it has been pretty fun. However, John was nowhere to be found.

Day 17

Forgetting Seventeen

Fear (17/12/2007)

Cold; shivers around us,
That's what the fear does,
Incomprehensible to the mind,
Upon the object the eyes find.

Sketches, images in air,
The illusion which gives us a scare,
Building up inside the head,
As it is constantly fed.

Holding on to the ground,
Until it is no longer found,
And your heart will quickly race,
As you are standing on empty space.

After it will remain mild,
Before it goes wild,
The truth we’d rather not see,
Of the person we’d rather not be.

Should we even question,
Our very own notion,
When it gets to us,
Like it always does.

Third day of searching in this place. The host decided to host a barbecue party earlier. Before that, in the morning, I read a graphic novel about the writing of a script for a film about the first millennium and how those people reacted back then. Fear was all around them.

Necrophobia or thanatophobia; the fear of death.
But I do not think it truly exists. Maybe it is the pain before death. Maybe it is the loneliness after death. Maybe it is the torture after death. Maybe it is the incompletion of things one has to do on this world. Maybe it is the thought of leaving one’s loved ones.

I always thought death was just lying dead in my coffin in the land of thoughts. It scared me.

Day 18

Picking Eighteen

Time Waiting Not (18/12/2007)

Time waits for no man,
Therefore we plan,
But sloths we are,
To think that far.

Time waits for no man,
Never wait we can,
As anger we obtain,
Patience becomes a pain.

Time waits for no man,
Though we are such a fan,
We always want more,
Coming through our door.

Today is the last day. My accomplice and I have already departed from our host. We were late for our bus actually. Hilarious story. We got dropped off at the wrong place and after twenty minutes of searching, we found out we were in the wrong place and had to rush to the other side.

Time is a funny thing. It can go on for hours and feel like minutes. It can go for a few minutes and feel like hours. They called it ‘lived time’, the psychological perception of time. Right now, it seemed as though it went too fast

Day 19

One After Nineteen

Calling (19/12/2007)

The phone, the phone, where is the phone?
I am so very alone,
Can you hear that scream?
Behind the high white beam?

Can you hear my voice?
Between the white noise
Hello? Hello? What's with the line?
I am not doing so fine.

My fingers are shaking,
As I am making,
No, no, I mean pressing,
I think I am really stressing.

My body will not stop jerking,
And is this even working?
Hello? Hello? Can you hear?
’Cause I'm scared, I fear.

I managed to get a hold of John and he is not coming back. John was a part of me. He was a good friend of mine and one who was not imaginary. I guess it is time to let go of the past. I have tried that before and failed. I just cannot. I think too much about things. Sometimes it does not allow me to move forward. I keep thinking. And then I ponder upon my thoughts. There is no easier way, unfortunately. I wish there was. Because now, I am slowly degenerating.

Day 20

Erosion On The Twentieth

Sensing Wrongly (20/12/2007)

I cannot say a word,
For then it would be heard,
As I am simply mute,
I can only play the flute.

I cannot hear you speak,
Your voice may be meek,
But it does not matter,
My ears never get better.

I cannot smell the stench,
Coming from that trench,
And that perfume on you,
You do not have a clue.

I cannot taste the food,
It is ruining the mood,
Even if it was a mouthful,
Or if it tasted awful.

I cannot feel the pain,
Or even the cold rain,
Upon my epidermis,
This is no bliss.

I cannot feel a thing; nothing at all. It is as though I am not alive; like I am dead to the world. You would think it is the coolest thing ever. That is where you are dead wrong. You would rather be dead than to have no feelings at all. When you cannot see, you would not mind the sight of ugliness. When you cannot smell, you would not mind the stench of garbage. When you cannot taste, you would not mind the horrible flavours provided. When you cannot hear, you would not mind the screeching sound of fingernails on blackboards. When you cannot feel, you would not mind a mixture of pain, hot, cold and touch. And when you do have all your senses, you wish for none.

Day 21

Taking On Twenty-One

Balance (21/12/2007)

My brain cannot think,
Swirling in the pink,
I cannot comprehend,
I try to understand.

Things somewhat struck,
Such as good luck,
Followed by the bad,
Makes me really mad.

Both sides are same,
Much like a simple game,
Both sides are opposing,
No one is losing.

Also, no one will win,
Every virtue has a sin,
The big picture will just stare,
The world is all fair.

Do you believe in balance?
Everything has its two sides. Everything has its opposites. And by opposites, I mean the absences of. Like light and darkness. The absence of light is simply darkness and vice versa. It is like a coin standing on its circumference, spinning around slowly as it tries to fall on either side. The thing is that it will never fall. It is perpetually there. It is in a perfect symmetry.

These two never-ending opposing forces it is what supplying the world with energy. Without it, the world would be dead. It is what drives the good to fight the evil and lures the evil to come out to play. Right now, there is an inner conflict within my soul.

Day 22

Rushing Through Twenty-Two

Board of Keys (22/12/2007)

As I sit at my table,
In front of the screen,
And I am just able,
Though I am not keen.

I stare at the picture,
Forming a certain art,
With a certain mixture,
At every single part.

Hands go across the keys,
I can feel the plastic,
On my palm the breeze,
Slightly fantastic.

I can hear the clicks,
Upon the written board,
With a lot of picks,
Filled with wires in cord.

And then I would choose,
Without much to see,
Though I really refuse,
The letters C, O, M, P...

And then I stop...

Ever been drawn to a climax and suddenly you are left hanging off a cliff? Annoying, is it not? In the midst of something, you eagerly read, watch or listen, and out of nowhere there comes the abrupt end. Then curiosity raises its head and many questions are asked which we may never know. Though sometimes it is just the way it is and it is supposed to be like that. The best ending is the one which has not really ended. Ironic, is it not? In the same topic, there is something else which really annoys me. You know what I really hate?

Day 23

Yes To Twenty-Three

Digits Till A Hundred (24/12/2007)

     What are they?
  Of that     they say
Many symbols of such,
Making         so much,
In that          one way

It has            no life,
Cannot         survive,
And yet they do a lot,
  Starts         from naught,
Up till         twenty-five.

And it                 goes on,
Never is                it gone
Much like a simple chain,
Running down a long lane,
      Until the end of dawn

During the        journey,
There     is         no key
It goes      on    timeless,
It is          very priceless,
Moving           up to fifty.

Still going one way,
Forever            to stay
Always                  here,
Never                 clear,
In the end of the day.

Won't give up a bit,
It won't               quit,
Just going by along,
Nothing             wrong,
3quarter                 of it

Till the end of time,
And rhyme,
Far beyond any place,
Even space,
Breaking law is no crime.

As the world thundered,
The people       wondered,
Even deep        in slumber,
Thinking          of number,
Until it reaches hundred.

Day twenty-three. It is a number as well. Our lives are built upon numbers, measured in time. Every second of our lives passes by constantly and consistently. We cannot ignore the fact that numbers are more than just symbols. It is a tool of measurement and prediction. Tick, and another second goes by. Eight more days and another year passes by. Imaginary as it may be, it exists as a reference for counting. We cannot ignore it, for if we do, unfathomable chaos will occur. This sentence contains exactly twenty-two words with one hundred and twenty letters and this paragraph has exactly a hundred and seven words.

A short riddle to keep you entertained: What has eight yet worth a hundred?

Day 24

Broken Twenty-Four

Linked Chess (24/12/2007)

It might be unexpected,
But everything is connected.

I have thought about it,
An analogy best fit.

Life is like a game of chess,
With three two pieces, no more no less.

Each person is a simple game,
But no two boards are played the same.

There is nothing much to prove,
As one by one both sides move.

A constant battle between two sides,
Piece by piece, each one slides.

But the very thing is this,
Consequences will not go amiss.

As each step will affect,
Depending on what you select.

No positioning is wrong,
Games can be short or long.

There is nothing to be said,
When the game is being played.

Putting in a lot of thought,
For when the game is fought.

And the game ends with a mate,
And that will be your fate.

Our lives are linked.
Newton once said that every action has an equal and opposite reaction. If we do something, there are consequences from the opposing force. Unknowingly, it may hit as hard.

Chess has two sides as well. One could be the representation of light, the good side and the other is the opposite. Strategically, both will attack each other but the winner will only be determined when the king is caught. That is when your life will be ended and you will be chained down to either side.

White Bishop to f4. Black Pawn to f7. White Queen to e5, check.

Day 25

Letting Twenty-Five Over

The Eclipse (25/12/2007)

The sun, she dances behind the full moon,
In the early of the afternoon,
As the shadow blankets the whole ball,
Creating an imaginary wall.

The moon, she gains all the attention.
While the people scream out for protection,
As though both orbs have joined as one.
As the moon has stolen the sun.

The day, she turns to night without light.
Curiosity takes a look at the sight,
Dark circle bound by a bright ring,
And no one has seen such a thing.

The people, they run around in panic,
The word of doom spreads like toxic,
Within the crowd, causing chaos to blend,
As they yell about the upcoming end.

The time, it passes by all this while,
Though there is nothing on the dial,
After minutes, the sun will emerge,
The people were never on the verge.

Imagine, if you existed during the very first eclipse, how would you feel? You notice the sky turning dark and it is not because of clouds but rather an object circulating around the world. Slowly, it begins to grow darker. Torches are lit and people huddled together. The shaman is out, chanting a prayer. You begin to wonder what is this strange phenomenon happening and what will happen. A few minutes pass and it is total darkness in the sky. The sundial has stopped. Everyone is panicking. And after about eight minutes, the sun comes back.

I wonder how the first Christmas was and how people slowly accepted it. I bet not all of them accepted it the first time. Well, now Christmas is totally different from before, I bet. Either way, Merry Christmas.

Day 26

Opening To Twenty-Six

Random I (26/12/2007)

Written like a book,
But don't judge it by its look,
Crooked like a hook.

Few seconds to go,
This is moving really slow,
I wish I could know.

Speaking with a voice,
Even if it was my choice,
Making a soft noise.

Giving it a close,
This really very strange prose,
So before it grows.

Some say randomness is a psychological disorder. I just say it is simply imagination’s way of telling you to stop keeping him inside and let him run wild. It is the ability to say one word, linking it to a word which is linked to another word and it goes on until a word which has no direct meaning is formed. The order in chaos.

If I were to say pool, I could say computer. That is because pool is like billiards and it has an eight ball which shows you an outlook which is also a program for the computer. I do wonder if it is possible to find something not linked. I guess not though. Bananas contain lots of potassium.

Day 27

Going Twenty-Seven

Proverb II (27/12/2007)

Curiosity killed the cat,
Do not believe that,
Because I did it,
With one hit.

I sit down, just thinking about all the secrets of the world. Curiosity draws me in again as well as certain inspirations. I begin to ponder about certain issues. Probably even start thinking about the meaning of life… Nope, that is just not me. I just think a lot about outcomes and try to figure out people. People are intriguing and contradictory. They try to be different; everyone tries to be different, and would that not make them the same? I guess I am simply curious.

Curiosity did not kill the cat. I did.

Day 28

Getting Twenty-Eight

Rope Burns (28/12/2007)

Hold on tight,
Just hold on,
The end is bright,
Not gone.

He feels the rope burn in his palm,
Yet he grips tight, peaceful and calm,
It is not a matter until something snaps,
And then he will fall down; collapse.

Pain is nothing,
Just the pain,
I don't... something,
Not again.

He is holding on strongly to the rope,
He is not just grasping onto hope,
Because if he do let go he will fall,
As there is not a single wall.

Guess there...
All round me,
There is air,
Not that I can see.

If he lets go now he will surely drop,
And there will be nothing to stop,
But what will happen is not predicted,
Though that option is not restricted.

Sadness tells you something is bothering you. John is gone and I should not feel sad. He was the one who fell into a fairy tale of love. And yet, I do hold on to the hope that John will come back. He was a good friend. And yet I am curious to find out what will happen in my life without him.

We hold on to the hope that we will never be lonely. We are creatures that require social connectivity. When left alone for a long period of time, an outburst of insanity can occur due to an eruption of boredom. We hope to never become insane.

If you hold on too long, your hands might hurt. But what choice do we have?

Postscript: Antisocial does not mean incapable of socialising. It is a mental disorder where one lacks remorse, compassion, cautiousness and patience.

Day 29

Incoming The Twenty-Nine

Poetic Memory (29/12/2007)

Let's get back to the start,
Before we had to part,
Before the creation of my art,
Before the beating of my heart.

With analogy and metaphors,
I have opened up many doors,
Kissed upon the many floors,
Dug inside the many cores.

Oxymorons inserted inside,
Visibility in the place of hide,
Dress upon the groom of bride,
Humility hidden within a pride.

To create a poem so discrete,
As though it is incomplete,
With lines which themselves repeat,
Not even as hard as concrete.

I tried to do it direct,
I tried to bring up the subject,
I tried to make it perfect,
But now I can only reflect.

My pencil in between my fingers,
Much like a choir of singers,
Upon the lined paper it lingers,
Much like a pair of stingers.

Ever written poetry? It is a beautiful art. The flow of your pencil in between the lines upon a paper. The wave of inspiration materializing in ink.

They say all art has a meaning hidden within. Probably but not necessarily because of the time, it is staring at you, right under your nose. They say you can tell a person by his poetry. I disagree. Poetry does not have to be personal.

They say a lot of things. I say as the time passes on, my poems mature with me and there are fresh ideas around. Though, I have to remember the first. The starting is the most important.

Day 30

Noting Thirty

The Writing Job (30/12/2007)

These poems of which I write,
My inspiration, my work of art,
They may not be that bright,
Joined together with a single part.

I choose the way the story goes,
Follow it if you really must,
But do not believe in the prose,
Because you cannot really trust.

I will tell you a little hidden,
One which I try not to share,
Truly it is considered forbidden,
So you should handle it with care.

With this secret you are going to rob,
Keep this one thing in your mind,
The thing is what I call a writing job,
Something which you will soon find.

Open your ears and carefully hear,
So this thing will not be amiss,
Here it goes and try not to fear,
There is an ambiguity in this.

The only secret a poet has to hide is the meaning of his poems. If you choose to view the poem through your own perception, then it is your choice. A poem can be seen from all angles, some of which a poet does not know. But the only thing a poet wishes is for you to keep an open mind and see in at least two points of view. Only with two points are you able to read between the fine lines. Four points and you make a square. Eight points and you can think outside the box.

Day 31

Goal Called Thirty-One

The Turning Point (31/12/2007)

Why do I watch the time go by,
With nothing but a silent sigh,
On the day before a new,
Where the moments are a few,
As they fly through the open sky.

As both hands upon a face meet,
Raise your glass with drinks of sweet,
Within the crowd I hear a cheer,
A mess of sounds which is not clear,
Giving out an awkward heat.

I can feel the bass in my heartbeat,
I can feel the vibrations beneath my seat,
The flashing lights from different spots,
Lasers forming colourful dots,
It all would have been quite neat.

Music streams through and I hear,
As each one dances with a dear,
At the stands with a glass in my hand,
The taste of my drink feeling bland,
As I welcome the new year.

Midnight comes within the range,
I guess it is time for me to change,
A resolution to be made,
And many things to be said,
Change starts now and old will fade.

A glass of champagne in my hand. Today is the last day. This is the last entry. The end as they call it. However, everything has to come to a close. And unlike most conclusions, this one is rather refreshing.

Things are coming to a full circle. Ironically, the ending is about the beginning. The end of the year is always about turning a new leaf or even starting resolutions. For me, the course of this whole event was like a lesson. Lose something and in the end you will gain something new.

Change. Everything changes. As long as the numbers are moving, nothing is forever. Even this book of which I have written and you are reading will slowly turn to dust.

A minute to midnight. I hold a glass of champagne in my hand. The fireworks erupt as both hands hit twelve. I raise my glass in a toast with everyone around me and take a sip. It is the end; it is a new year.


This is the end of the book.
If it were a diary, it is my last day of living.
If it were an adventure, the hero has fallen to save the day.
If it were a mystery, the case has been solved.
If it were a calendar, this is the end of the month.

And it is.
The moon has completed an orbit around the Earth.
The Earth has completed an orbit around the Sun.

But enough of repetition. In the end, it call comes down to the closing; the hardest part. At the same time, it is such a relief to finish going through all that.

2678400 seconds have passed.
The transformation is complete. However, whether it is successful or not, it has just begun.

For John, he was never gone. He is just dormant, at the moment, coming back when he wants to. He can never leave. He is me after all. My persona.

And for you. It is time for you to walk out that door. You have to leave. But you have to remember. Recall the times. Memorise the lines. Remember the past of which you have gone through. Do not forget. Everything that has happened is important.

For me, my past is preserved within this book. Within each poem, there is a soul of the history. And it lives on with me even though thirty-one days are over.


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