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4 Themes: Section 2: Religion

4 Themes: Section 2: Religion I believe in God, Because I was told to. A religion I did not understand; A faith I did not profess. But I had to fit in, I had to please the crowd. And so, I continued to ‘believe’, While questioning the existence of a God; While facing a world full of hypocrites. Out loud I asked, ‘Who is God? Is he the Judge? Or, is he the Executioner?’ Everyday I wondered, Who determines the sinners and the blessed? How do we measure a person’s worth? Why are the sinners kinder than the preachers? Is hypocrisy the religion? Nay, I am who I am. Neither a sinner nor an angel, Just a mere human. And if there is a God, Then He shall judge me for who I truly am, Not who I profess to be. * We believe in _ _ _ Because we were told to. But two millenniums of stony silence Have forced us to get up and seek out The steep path to the mountain top. Like the children of Israel before us We endure the cutting
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The Tattooed Rebel

The Tattooed Rebel   - Edward Ong  The living ink on your body breathes  Faraway myths my imagination cannot reach. The merman way you flex yourself - in the dying amber light of the day - Gives the black swirls a meaning  Only my intuitive eyes can comprehend. On your neck stand the Three Crosses, Holy in their uprightness and yet  Condemned by your liberal peers. The defiance of your existence starts here, Almost at eye level, and I am (I must admit) Aroused by its forthrightness, The suffering of the saint and sinners you have Committed to carrying until you are ash. The grinning skull on your bicep is A reminder of everlasting death, The sparkling diamond in its mouth Is the preciousness of here and now. So smile! and I trace with my fingers The cluster of bright stars Across your mountainous shoulders. From these stars we came, Ancient dust sprinkled through time to settle  On the planet of Love and Hate. Heart riven, my sight drops To your chest wh

4 Themes: Section 1: Love

Spring,  A season for new beginnings. Just as how the flowers blossom best at this time,  So do our hearts,  with love. In a blink of an eye,  Summer comes and goes. A time where we jump into pools with no fear,  A time where we feel strongest,  the fire burning within our souls - When our only desire is each other. Autumn comes in a swift,  The most beautiful season of them all. When changes are inevitable,  When decisions must be made. As the leaves begin to turn brown,  You wonder if this is the one. Come Winter may,  A conclusion must be drawn. To huddle through the cold,  Or let it be buried underneath it all. A bet you must make,  The risk you must take. After the storm passes,  A new day begins. If not the most beautiful snow,  Then open your arms,  And welcome a new Spring. * ‘Spring, A season for new beginnings.’ I intone these words as I reach for the Lover. His eyes light up in bemused disbeli

Beauty/Weakness

Beauty/Weakness  Edward Ong  Weakness is my beauty  For since birth I've known I'm not Meant to last. This existence has imperfections aplenty, And so I seek out the beauty That is my weakness on windless nights When the heat of the day has not Dissipated, And I melt body and soul, Puddle formless reflecting  The mythical perfection  Known only to the fallible Gods.  8.2.16   Penang, Malaysia

Sleepless

Sleepless It’s only late at night, When the minutes are protracted That the fears hidden by daylight - The fear of dilapidation, of irreducible pain, Of loneliness and all things terminal – Drop their masks and reveal the ugliness Of Truth; that for the single man There is no truth other than That all paths lead to the eternal forest - So achingly green and familiarly dark – Where all living things retreat and wait For the certain final hour. It’s only late at night, When Silence has reclaimed its purity, That the echoes of bygone eras return, Droning regrets and protestations never-ending, Cyclical disappointments, looping heartbreaks, Rhythmic reiterations of ‘Never again!’, ‘Today is the first day…,’ and ‘Worthy I am.’ All conviction since lost, drowned in The underworld stream of mass indifference, The hungry maelstrom devouring dreams Of every manchild ever dared to Outwear the insignia of innocence. But when daylight comes

How to be a Cultured Reader: Candide, or Optimism – Voltaire

This is a pedantic series of entries about classic novels you should read if you wish to make an impression at uptown soirees catering to cultured types. Look on the bright side: there is no such thing as a born ignoramus.  Candide, or Optimism – Voltaire Year of publication: 1759 Edition: Penguin Classics, 2005 Plot: Candide is a naïve young man shaped by his tutor Pangloss’ philosophy positing that ‘all is for the best.’ When Candide ventures out into the big bad world to face his demons, he is thwarted by outrageous (and often hilarious) disasters ranging from earthquakes to the Inquisition. At the end of his harrowing journey, he learns to question his tutor’s stance and grows into maturity. Why this novel: 1. This is the European novel of enlightenment that raised the question of the individual’s right to freedom of expression. It is the forefather of all satirical works, and was for the longest time perceived as a threat by the Church and various gover

How to be a Cultured Reader: The Turn of the Screw - Henry James

This is a pedantic series of entries about classic novels you should read if you wish to make an impression at uptown soirees catering to cultured types. Look on the bright side: there is no such thing as a born ignoramus.  The Turn of the Screw - Henry James Year of publication: 1898 Best edition: Penguin Classics ( The Turn of the Screw and The Aspen Papers ) Plot: An unnamed governess is hired to watch over a young boy and a girl in a gothic mansion. During her tenure she discovers that the previous governess had an illicit affair with another employee, and both died a mysterious death. Something is also not quite right with the boy and the girl. They appear to be able to communicate with the dead governess and her evil lover. Is the mansion haunted? Are the children possessed? Or is the governess not playing with a full set of marbles? Why this novel: I could have recommended The Portrait of a Lady (also by James), but its bulk of some 600 pages might just