Tag Archives: Philosophy



Each moment that passes by

is just like the moment yet to come,

that has already been and

is here with us again

until its time for it to go

and another arrives in

anticipation of yet one

more waiting its turn;

Though all moments

truth be told

are the same,

clones of clones of clones

camouflaged as “time”

so as not to appear

indifferent to our rather mundane desire

to see differences

appreciate variety;

After which we conclude

that all of it really is

just a waste of time.

Conversations That Never Happened

Why is it that I cannot meet you, invisible mystery
Oh mademoiselle, lost in your ancient book
What is there that you ignore this handsome genie
See my skin, so soft like a makeup brush
White as milk foam I am, light and mischievous
I wait here for long, for one gentle kiss.

You keep turning pages of never-ending history.
Galloping with the brave knights of an unknown era
Until your clock says, food time, wake-up
I am hungry, I agree; I need you to fill my pot belly
Why not give me your attention, that one loving glance
I wish I were born as a cat in your novel.

Ahh, time goes on, and I have fallen in love
With those slender fingers turning pages
I wish I were a book on your lap
It’s cute; your face changes to the novel’s weather
Why not see me once, I promise
I will keep you always smiling, I promise again.

As the lovers of the world, I do give you my word
It’s uncertain, I know, but let me try it
You will never touch the book again if you hear me
Meow- a longing purr tears the woods.
I may go now, and you may never see me again.
All will be lost in seconds if only you don’t hear me.

She turns the page again, and the cat falls off the tree
And the story goes on. New characters enter
Old characters are forgotten, but the meow still lingers
In hearts that read and imagined the longing cat
Akin to our very own life, where God writes
And we witness it silently with not much ado.

Shalini Samuel

Mirth & Laughter

               Mirth & Laughter 
Shallow  shadows 
the steeper deeper
of the fading falling
tears of years
dripping dropping
like gasoline
onto the pyres
of our own making;
Over there,
the dancing fools
and their pipers 
whilst waiting to be paid
sold their souls for salt
in the impossible dark,
in the unreckoned nights,
consumed by their own
shallow shadows..


Silent as graveyards
the mornings pass by
in spectral rows
shunning the Sun
and shrouding the hours
with their indifference;
Corpulent time
weighed down by its
feasting on sloth,
its casual air of neglect 
suffused what joy
might otherwise
have preened its feathers
and stirred our imagination,
the one floundering 
in chains of disquiet


I wake up this morning

to the empty sky..

What are words worth

when they are no longer new?

When we hear some haunting lyrics,


so perfect,so borrowed

on a morning when

the Sun itself is no longer new

let alone all the things under it;

what shall keep us company

on dark winter evenings

if we’re not wrapped in the cloak

of a borrowed nostalgia that

recalls and replays on an

endless,endless loop

words that are no longer new

and what are words worth

as I wake up this morning

to the empty sky..

Staring Contest

See the empty pages


staring back at you

staring as you stare

at them:

All those pages,

empty,void and


waiting for a stroke

of your pen

the cut and thrust

of some intellect and

a little wit;

Scratches on the surface

of the Sun,

etchings on the landscape

of the Moon;

and still you stare at them

whilst they’re staring back

at you,

and you alone

hold the pen.

Excerpts from a Conversation

Who are you again?

Oh,that’s right!

yes,I remember now;



erm,no,you’re thinking about someone else,

no,he was there round about the same time,

yeah,that’s right,

and you?

cancer of the bowel? wow!

no,I..I’m sorry to hear that?

Me? oh coming up to 30 years..

Department of Work and Pensions,Benefits,

erm,well no,not particularly

I can’t remember ever sanctioning anyone suffering from cancer;

Tens of thousands? really?

that’s just shocking!

Yeah, I am a Union member..

Oh,I don’t know..

anyhow,nice catching up with you..

see you around again sometime?

Lunchtime Interlude

There is Bach

playing on the radio,

and I am sat

at the dining table,

having finished my

lunchtime repast,

there is cabarnet shiraz

in my glass,

and I savour

all of these moments


now passing,

now gone,


to be


Author’s footnote;

Composed 1:11 -1:14 pm.

( He prepares a table before me..)


Who will remember the Days
when they are gone?
who will sail the Sea
when it is dry?
what tears shall we shed
when we can no longer cry?
who will furl up the flag
when the war is done?
who will stand guard
when the armies are gone?
who shall tend our grave
and sweep away the leaves
of an autumnal season
long out of step?

What songs will Nightingales make
when there’s no-one left to hear?
what pictures will colours make
when there’s no-one to paint
the scene of old men on
the park bench by the lake?
who will remember the days
when diaries crack with longing
for missing fingers to turn
pages that fade and crumble
for want of eyes to read again
the names of those things
unspoken by lips long sealed,
who then will there be left
to remember the days?


Standing in our stockinged feet

on the surface of an alien world ,

wondering whether we can ever go back

go back go back again to that

place where we started from ?

So very far away so very

long ago that somehow we left

somehow find ourselves in our

stockinged feet standing and staring

staring across an unfamiliar horizon

wrought of jewels burnished with gold ,

dazzling and shining and when

all is done and all is told

we simply stand with one question

remaining on our lips ,

How do we get back home ?