I've finally changed the template of my poems' blog and updated it (if you can call the addition of one previous poem "updating" that is). I opted for the simplest design available and included a couple of drop-down lists in the sidebar to make navigation simpler for other users (i.e. only useful for myself I guess, for who else would bother??? =p ).
Well, I'm not sure of the point I'm trying to make here but it seems to me that I haven't written a new poem for quite some time. Either I haven't got sufficient time to write or haven't been inspired to write anything worthwhile so far. Since the former is not entirely true, I think a lack of creative inspiration is to be blamed for my poetic drought.
Anyway, for those who've been wondering where I had gotten the idea for my email addy (and it's fyi for those who haven't been wondering~!), it is through this piece of work below which I wrote like some donkey years ago for a small-scale competition during my uni days. Well, those were the glory days lah... *sigh*
Chasing Horizons
The blind man is standing there, playing his instrument.
Does he not see?
The men accoutered in their sharp, snazzy suits --
Their black asian hair streaked with bronze or blonde
Or red or mahogany or blue,
Slicked back with designer gel to last the entire day --
How, from him, they contrived to turn their gaze away
By looking ahead at the looming passage of the underpass
Or at the flashy ads that interchange behind the glass.
Their chins up high, briskly walking;
Does he not see they could just be pretending?
Or are they really chasing their horizons -- relentlessly pursuing
The wrong dreams, the wrong things?
Oh! But he is blind!
These slit-eyed men in their sharp, snazzy suits;
Do they not see?
There is no need to divert their glances away from him.
For his blank eyes cannot possibly judge or be prejudiced
Against people he cannot possibly see.
If he cannot look into the distance, what horizons can he pursue?
But the hope that some people with empathy -- or a dollar or two --
Would stop and listen to his (sometimes tuneless) tired song.
Is that too much to ask for? Is that wrong?
His chin up high, bravely waiting;
Do they not see, his life is still worth living?
His limited boundaries are not his undoing.
He isn't begging for fancy things.
Or are they also blind?
The blind man has stopped playing his instrument.
His song has ended.
But the men in their sharp, snazzy suits
are briskly walking --
Chasing their horizons.
