talking to the sun


image is a mashup of photos by Leo Cardelli and Cristiano Bizzinotto, both @

talking to the sun

the cars stop at red, a momentary block,
as the gaunt but big-boned man
— with sun-baked face and arms,
hair and beard dangling wiry, crinkled
like loose threads of his faded-violet
duffel bag slung on a towering shoulder,
dressed in tattered flowing brown robe
that had long lost its sleeves —
crosses our part of the street on to the middle island
to teeter beneath the traffic light that worries about
the man dancing round its weather-beaten pole.

the man’s fierce eyes tell me
not to open my side windows,
as he, a soul from the middle island, shaded
by the red-eye traffic lamp,
raises his hands high to the sky
looking up directly to the morning sun,
alternately shaking his pointy fingers of doom
to shoot down the cosmic glare,
or opening up his fists into a graven cup,
to beseech the sun and his many moons
to come rest in his palms.

and with a sweep of one hand and his glowing eyes,
he addresses the cars idling on the road,
holding them as hostage to his pithy and rage,
and stretches the other hand to reach
into his weary duffel bag.
i hold my breath as he struggles
to pull something heavy out of the bag
— would it be a rock or a bottle,
a missile, an incendiary cocktail? —-
while the traffic lamp keeps its red eye peeled
unblinking, unbreathing, unyielding.

and the man addresses the sun again,
as he now pulls up a thick,
heavily-frayed book to shake at the sky,
his mouth frothing, his eyes intent
to part the clouds that gather.
and just as suddenly as he had made his way
to the middle island, he darts
to the other side of the far street,
lilting and prancing, disappearing into
the din of onrushing cars,
and pensively plodding pedestrians.

and in the interval between his coming and going,
in the wait to return back to my own journey,
a baby is born in a hospital ward not too far from where
a dying man, as he breathes his last, hears the baby cry.
in a forest, a pale sprout turns green to smile at the sun,
while unheard, a tree in all its glorious foliage falls
cursing to the ground,
and the many tensions of growth and decay
that span the breadth between heaven and earth
promise the same beyond, but remain reticent
to let me in on their arcane wisdom and deep secrets.

–  © said sadain 2019


photo by pexels @



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photo of a signboard displayed at a borders store in Selangor, Malaysia. photography by ssj, 2019

‘nice to see, nice to hold,
once broken, considered sold.’  

— anonymously printed on a signboard at a borders store  

spells to sell

modern magic spells,
flasks of fortune to dispense
ancient human greed

stir up the cauldron,
lift the urns into the air,
there are no borders

longer than your smile,
wider than your appetite,
these spells are for sale.


–  © ssj 2019 


signboard displayed at a borders store in Selangor, Malaysia – no filters. photography by ssj, 2019



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still lost in time at the 10:10

when the 10:10 strikes



@ the center court of the Suria KLCC, Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, Dec. 2018. photography by SSJ

the public is
normally a band of
toy soldiers for 
mainstream and
social media to
play with.  

what will you be 
when at 10:10
the clock strikes?  

© ssj 2018


Lifted from a postcard that I came across on Messenger, but most specially from my heart to yours:  here’s wishing you all a relaxed mind, a peaceful soul, a joyful spirit, a healthy body and a heart full of love this holiday season and always.

As you can surmise, I remain lost at the 10:10, and will probably not be able to blog regularly for some more time. And if you are wondering, why the 10:10?, here’s a few fun links to get you going after the 10:10, for whatever good it will do to your part of the multiverse:

Why is 10:10 the Default Setting for Clocks and Watches?

4 Reasons Why You Are Seeing 10:10 – The Meaning of 1010

Those ones and zeros might not look like anything to you, but in binary code the numbers are actually saying… 

The Ten Codes 

— SSJ, 31 Dec. 2018

Disclaimer:  The poster above is not earning me any commission fees, neither from the image’s watch watchmaker, nor from any of the Suria KLCC businesses that you may encounter in some of the links on this page.

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splitting seconds


Image is a mashup of photos by Jaymantri @ and Trinck @ The imagery employs some amount of Gaussian blur combined with a zooming effect. Neither of the original photos is anywhere near 71st Sinaiyah.

splitting seconds

this is what a WTD moment
on 71st Sinaiyah at my 10:
10:00 AM looks like from
the driver’s seat:

narrow asphalt lanes
no longer than a mile
going and coming empty
but for the single file of sad cars
illegally parked along the curbs
— but only illegal for stray 
traffic cops to say —
withering dull or glossy
under the desert sun on
either side of 10:09:58 AM,
twin solid yellow lines solemnly mark
separation at the middle of the world
promising a robust paradise
at the foreseeable future bend,
when from the corner of an eye
a red ocher car whips up to life:
an arabian horse that bolts
head-on to my 10:09:59 AM
to slice the yellow lines
that breath with me
like a gaussian asymmetry
of thunder flash that grips
the blood vessels to preach
a lesson on the oscillation
of a school of souls
from head to soles and back,
through gaps of teeth
through blinding sight
as one wonders at 10:10:01 AM
where all the air has gone.

© said sadain, jr.  2018


WTD is a modest substitute for WTF as the poem is meant to be read by poetry lovers of all ages with no need for any elderly supervision.

You do not need to understand what a Gaussian function is to appreciate a Gaussian asymmetry. Just feel it stir up from within your core, warming your veins, and flowing into your poetry.

— ssj, 24 november 2018

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lost in time


the image by annca @ has been slightly modified by an overlay of a 1950’s family photo

lost in time

one day gone
and i don’t remember anymore
how my little brother looks like
— blame my eyes for they have seen 
much to the seclusion of simplicity 

a lock of golden hair
mingling with the innocence of
a face, or the hippie look
of david bowie?
sweet brown eyes round and full
of crinkled laughter silently
echoed within the brown of the eyes
but it could well be
the piercing green of that creature
in the exorcist 

the pristine curve of
pinkish lips in the manner of a
smile and the reddish dimple of
a child three years old,
but no — i envision the sneer 
of a fox and the dimple of 
a gorilla. 

i reach for the picture in my
pocket, but alas
the picture of my little brother
has blurred away
with the passing of

© said sadain, jr.  1974


The poem “lost in time” first saw print in the Focus Philippines Magazine, 9 Nov. 1974 issue.  The film The Exorcist (released to cinemas in late 1973) apparently confused my young mind enough back then to deserve being mentioned in this poem. So did David Bowie’s look confused me a lot, looking really more of hip than hippie with his gender-blending beatnik-ness that could easily color nightmares. While not much of a fan of Bowie’s music or his style, I did pay attention to some of his songs’ poetry, such as Life On Mars and Starman, this early interest to seemingly augur my later-life fascination with the exploits of Elon Musk  😀

— SSJ, 10 Nov. 2018

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countless colors shall bring tomorrow


Image is cropped from a photo by Engin_Akyurt @

countless colors shall bring tomorrow

the fires of life taste the flavor
of dwarf gardens in poets’ dreams
raised by cold river on rushing currents.
nearby, a bare tree smiles at the sky
and rises directly to the wind:
behold the promise of a fountain fall
to dissipate the fancies on rays
of countless sun colors that knit
the fabrics of a boundless morrow.
© said sadain, jr.  2018


I pride myself at being a part-time writer. I have to live up to that designation, that is why, among other things, I went off the grid for a while, away from this blog 🙂 No apologies there. But I did not expect the off-gridding to take longer than it did, for other more pressing reasons, and for that I apologize. Perhaps I need to change the appellation from being a Part-Time Writer to simply being a Now-You-See-Him-Now-You-Don’t Writer. I’ll take pride in that too 🙂
Thank you for sticking around and reading this blog. Have an enjoyable weekend, everyone.
— SSJ, 2 Nov. 2018
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The Right To Peace and Plenty

The Right To Peace

“It is time all nations and all people live up to the words of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, which recognizes the inherent dignity and equal and inalienable rights of all members of the human race.”

— Secretary-General António Guterres 


photo by sasint @

Continue reading

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