“In-between those hustles in Life, I sometimes afford a snap of idle rumination, where things around me would slow, gradually, to a crawl, and just before anchoring to that irreversible still, I see. I see clearly what has passed, as if it were flashing in front of the now moored inactivity. Not I one who perfect-bethinks of my battered past, but more of an inability to remove myself from my aggrieved. When only in such allayed mood would I lose control and regret that breather of initially. What have I done or did not possibly? That time actually kills me, ironically, muffled from its chase, however impossible by this inasmuch logic. It is in such that while quietly wasting away, I think of you. That my disconnecting moments, they belong to you. And I realize, not least bewildered, that it is all I do these days. Then I wait. I wait for time to flinch again.” ~ © Esmond Ng 22/12/11

Choices not apparent the always,
Deceivable most times the case,
If be uninvolved so snap smooth the first place,
Then what of choice would be it in dawning preface?

How we then make verdict of it all?
Consensus concord a volition pray.
For some in haste and foolhardy made,
Regrettable woeful will afflict its place.

Bassanio too was worriment engaged,
For dependent was Portia on his take.
Should gold, silver or lead be his box picked?
Should he cull a coward pick?

As stairs of sand they wear upon their chins,
The beard of Hercules and all their fancy things.
But inward with their milk’d white livers,
So too the precious metal boxes contain.