Painting with Poetry: Distant Sail


Home in a distance.

Flee in a moment.

Set sail into the endless ocean,

As the engulfed cities perish in blaze.

What sets us ablaze?

What divides us afar?

A drip of ink?

Or a smear of white paint?

Perhaps it is the same waned cinder of ashes,

Whom we shackle at the bottom of the ships.

And so all the lives dissolved,

Into the image of a distant past,

Through the inheritance of generations.

©Paulus of Sinae July 2016


A City in a Mask

Colours in disarray.

And I see the city bleeding black.

This false sight of colourful life

Within the mask of fog sagging down in the city hive.

Gold and neon lights,

Just a hollow maze of night.

We end our past dreams.

We fool our minds.

The trick to us into believing,

Unto a life we trust to be the ideal yet deceiving.

And we toil and forget.

Dissolved us on to the grand canvas with our own sweat.

No longer we own our discrete spectrum.

All spectra of colours bleed into the corrupted red;

Unto the smear of blood on those pair of lost lips.


©Paulus of Sinae April 2016

Poem : Slumber my child

Slumber child, slumber child,
For thou do not know thine burden;
Slumber child, slumber child,
For thou do not rest thine soul.
Quaint is the world;
And yet we prevail.
Soon the first sin of the ancient shall again be committed,
And we shall become the devourer of the world again.
Slumber child, slumber child,
For thou hast not yet sinned;
Slumber child, slumber child,
Slumber while thine innocent peace lasts.

Valiant Hearts

Humanity, why do you war?

For what belief do you war?

For a fake identity as a nation?

Or for the pride of the manipulative few?

When your heart is gouged out by the sheds of icy steel,

Do you think the leaders you love will lean their ears to you?

Nations rise and nations fall.

Its place never recognises its own.

So why shall you shed your blood for the fake shadow

Created out of your own construct?

The wolf howls in the snowy mountains.

They eat and assimilate,

And never perceive the hypocrisy of the noble course

Of what humanity always does.

Soon the valiant hearts will cannibalise.

And we still cling to our hypocrisy and


My mess of paints 

A whisper of green,

A whisper of blue.

They fill my vision.

And I scratch them off my mind.

But the hue lingers,

And the residue sinks,

Into a mess of colours,

That haunts my waking dreams.

They cling to my inner skull.

They spoil my dreaming neurons.

My palette knife keeps scratching,

And bruises my inner brain. 

I can hear the knife scratching.

My skull is the prison

And out drill the splash of paint!

Dear Lord, my torment…

When shall the hue of lust faint? 


Stinking world

The trembling rings of despair.
Where colours fade into red,
The water turns corroding sour.

The decadence rots in civilisations.
Where joints of decays flipped
Into swamps of maggots.

Why the chase,
When helplessness is the chasers?

What to sustain,
When it’s only husks the soulless live?

The one who claimed to be humanity,
But mechanical clogs in the grand society,
The fairest Babylon.

Toiling in the grand scheme.
Submitting to the grand princes,
With a contemporary ingenious yet distasteful name.

And the cities ring again,
In the glasses of blood and oppression,
Where no one cares
Of the struggling little ones.

Blood are sucked to feed
Ourselves from ourselves,
Until no little ones can be exploited anymore.

Oh do you identity yourselves as human?
Then why do you kill your own kind
For the lust of power and overpowering.
‘Tis no difference than cannibalism.

The grand harvest of soul shall begin soon.
When the earth sinks,
Boils and simmers,
And shatters
By the hammer of the creator,
Which is the fool bearing the name humanity.

Oh the world stinks
Of the blood we have shed from ourselves.


Wherefore art thou…

The gust blows

Upon the lost clouds.

Little shards of cloud,

Wherefore art thou going?

Through the cities and countrysides.

Baked under the sun, transpiring.

Wherefore art thou going?

Toiling and lingering,

Until your fluffy wings are gone.

And no one recognizes you anymore.

Wherefore art thou going?

The shattered clouds are no longer here.

My questions, wherefore I asked?