+love, love+
love, love,
is the reason that i leave
lipstick traces on coffee cups and
cigarette butts and
the lines on the back of
your neck.
+I Like Indonesians+
I like Indonesians
They are so unlike Singaporeans and Malaysians
They speak the same language
Their flags have common colours with the other two
They do not need to buy one
They wear them to school
None of them are rich
Not even their leaders
You cannot blame them for slipping Rupiahs under tables
They do not need Gucci or the Internet
No empty promises, no sympathy, no one-eyed liar,
No Father of Nationalism and her big-butted daughter
No IMF or John Howard's smiles, but only basic human rights
And, perhaps, Amien Rais too
Their cigarettes smell bad but taste sweet like diced lungs
Some of them have no passport
So they live in beautiful islands and feed on saltwater fish
They have Jakarta, Krakatoa, Aceh and Tsunami
They either die of nothing to eat or being blown into pieces
They protest everyday because there is nothing to lose
Opposition is healthy
They are natural born dancers from Dangdut marriages
A few of them are money minded whores
But they despise Playboy
They go weak on babes who smuggle drugs
As long as she is white and her surname is Abdullah
They are afraid of Australia
They are the world's most Muslims
And the most mystical practices
They do not brag about anything.
+I Like Singaporeans+
I like Singaporeans
They are so unlike Malaysians
They have no soul
They are boring and as dry as concrete
They buy flags for SGD1 from supermarkets
A day before National Day
But they want free ones from the RC
Many of them are rich
They buy more Gucci than underwear
And sell motor cars through eBay for USD1
They are soft spoken idealists
It cost too much to be a rebel or an SPG
They sing songs of patriotism in school
They have pink I/C but they live in Australia
Opposition equals enemy
They claim to have won the Independence
They love shopping in JB and KL
But they hate dirty toilets
They thought Mona Lisa was the greatest painting ever
And the Merlion a postcard favourite
They vote for Big Brother
They hate men with golden taps
They hang drug traffickers
They cane vandals and rapists
They charge free speeches
They have Twin Jackfruits
They are noticed throughout the world
They have apologetic Muslims
And the most campaigns
They have too much of everything to brag about.
+I Like Malaysians+
I like Malaysians
They are so unlike Singaporeans
They hang stripes of CMY and not K, but #FFFFFF
They sing songs of patriotism
My Country, my country, my country
They know the difference between Malaysians and Bumiputeras
They claim they are multi-racial
A few of them are rich
They buy more Deers than Horses
And trade time for Gucci for RM10
They go home at night
They appreciate all forms of art
Including rainbow coloured umbrellas of Chow Kit Road
They do not drink drive because liquor is sin
Threesome is safer than a boy and a girl
They do not cane rapists
They are revolutionists
Until their leader reformed into a gay
So they stick with their pure mindset
Opposition equals poverty
Only a few can study in Australia
Because anyone can become a University graduate
They claim to not depend on the West but
They think of competing with the EU
They have Twin Towers
They want to be noticed throughout the world
Their Kings secretly wanted golden taps
They are made up of majority Muslims
And unscathed forests
They love to brag about everything.
+a cell varies / varicella+
skin shying in sensitivity
body hair and radiation
awakening mystery
the cells in confusion
nerve wrecking mutation
is it real and will it heal
my acyclovir addiction
capsaicin or steroid pill?
nipples pink keep me sane
taste like sweet potato plant
i was afraid of the pain
or was it Ramsay Hunt?
Ernest Hemingway died
no it was not syphillis
so let us get this right
it was just a cell that varies.
+eye game+
it is brief and intense as i sit pretty fit in my seat
and you look at my skirt as i shift both my feet
and you look up my breast and i brush off the thread
and you look at my hands and i bite my fingernails
and you look at my lips and i rub both my cheeks
as you look up my face and you gaze into space
in my eyes and i glance for a while as you smile
and i smile but it does not mean i want to fuck you.
+sweet your blood+
for Flint
what do you taste like, i wonder
melted mint chocolate chip
bittersweet hot fudge dip
frosty mango ice popsicle
frothy banana milk swirl
no, you taste like vanilla coke
like blood in bathtub where i soak
you taste like blood, ruddy heart
what do you taste like, i ponder
salty buttered roast pecan
sweet sour lemon chicken
tangy spicy curry fish
grilled peppered mediterranean shish
no, you taste like egg sunny side up
soaked with blood in my bathtub
you taste like blood, ruddy heart
sweet your blood.
+theft+
they took her power
like Azrael ripping
souls off living bodies.
when she bled
they became demi-gods
but all she wanted
was love
not anaphylactic shock.
on a horse ride
she wandered
she fell
and her persona lost
like value
beneath her clothes.
at night she could only
sleep with her thighs
crossed tight
weaved and intertwined
within their backstage laughter.
she washes the dishes
though she misses
the fishes.
so forget the fight
for pride
even if you have
the reddest heart.
because when you're a woman
you're only alive
if it was just a bad dream.
+the decline of god, the decay of man+ god
a name we cannot decide
whether to recite
or to fear or near
or to explore or ignore
or to challenge and question
the existence
will it be the end of the world
when the hours run
counter clockwise
we cannot turn back time
to change everything
while we are still sleeping
in darkness till dawn sets in
we define our lives at night
within evil and vice
we are lost and blind
to find our way out of
our worldly mind
and it is getting late
we wake up in daylight
only to outwit mankind
we steal and we kill
to be might
to be right
to be tall like skyscrapers
towering stairway to god
to meet our new competitor
and prove that we need no
other man to make another man
knowledge becomes a weapon
to feed our ambitions
creations become objects
of devotion and we worship
convenience that helps
us make excuses
and selfish reasons
when we believe in stars
there is no more god
because anyone can become Jesus
and Gabriel is a woman
and Allah is a difficult name
and Buddha is a doll
a concept
a lifestyle
a stress relief
a pendant we hang loose on our necks
not as talisman
no lucky charm
no protection
but symbol of wealth
and earthly possessions
no more embedded in our hearts
no traces left in mind
only words and phrases
misused
manipulated
vulgaritised
and when there are too many hands of god
we eat them up
like beef in burgers
we do not even eat meat anymore
because we eat their faeces
and we degenerate
into intricate creatures
an act mistaken for a test
of courage, strength and durability
like primitives
we are slaves to everything we create
divinity impeached
nothing is holy
nothing to believe
there is no hell
because heaven is on earth
and freedom is the keyword
no restrictions
no rules, laws and consequences
no shame
because cool is our middle name
as kippas and rosaries
a fashion statement
and swastikas become flags
men became women
and women wear only skin
because clothes are excess baggage
we ride on wheels
and gamble on saddles
sex is free
marriage is expensive
war is money
peace is poverty
no more prayers
and we want more than what we have
because we live to not die
but to survive in the world
where good and bad exist
where we are both
where we are saints and satans
and sometimes we are gods
and everything becomes unreal
our culture is not our identity
just entertainment
and religion is just another
classification
dewey-decimaled in libraries
where god is dismembered
in the archives
suffer the last generation
who will read its history
and are we waiting for the time
when we start to ask ourselves
who we are
but never find the answers
because there are too many questions
no revelations
no explanations
if it is not about god
then it is our faith
and we no longer
leave it to Him
because it is entirely up to us.
+Flint+
for the boy I called my own...
Flint, my white crust of sparkling spangle
My so profound age defying sublimation
That keeps me alive in immortal darkness
Your smile runs through my blood like medicine
My nights know no wonders bear no colours
But you light me with self-substantial fuel
Your childlike sweetness I can only adore
You're the reason I'm so full of love, and life
That lovely gaze where every eye dwells
Brings me to times of hope and intensity
Or whether shall I say mine eye says true
That your love taught it this alchemy
That black-white pinstriped shirt
It smells of passion and endless youth
Take me and stream me down beneath it
I want to engulf in its innocence
You sang me verses of gentle grace
A heart-rending song swept across the bay
As I rest my head on your shoulders
I felt magnetic like poetry on electric field
Its signals transmit nothing but my fondness of you
The brother I never had, the lover I can only pretend
Your affection ignites me with love
Like a spark struck from flint.
+a nurse's diagnosis vs. an artist's prognosis+
My name is Louise.
I hail from Singapore
A country of no capital
Only urban complexities.
I live with people I love
In a big house of somnolence
And broken hopes.
I indulge in works of art
Share elitist tastes
And slave myself
To fashion, pretense and lies.
I write poems
Of intense lust and sweet sorrow
And morbid dreams.
I play guitar and draw pictures
Of trees by the river.
I listen to Tchaikovsky and Radiohead
And foreign films are better than Hollywood.
I eat seafood fettucini with carbonara
And I like Ceasar's salad too
With lots of Italian dressing
Often taken with cinnamon tea
Or black coffee.
In the weekends I take a walk
Around shopping arcades
Hunting for designer watches
Though I prefer to chill out
By the bay with intimate friends.
I snap photographs of stars.
Sometimes they form pretty shapes
Like constellations.
In some rare instances
They are as immaculate as the Braille.
But most of the time
They are plain hallucinating.
My favourite thing to do
Is to lay myself down
My limbs spread out on the wet grasses
Of Fort Canning Park
Craving for that due attention.
I usually do this at night
Because during the day
I am a nurse and I have no life.
+of the elements four+
everything feels crumbly
sticky and squishy
pigmented brown substance
that composes of sulphur
phosphorus, magnesium and other
absorbed by osmosis through the roots
plants need these to prosper
it is what we are made from
and of this, the form we will finally be
the thing that covers us
as we are slowly lowered into grave
we are different, and yet one.
where on earth can we find it?
it is everywhere, even in us
this simple yet complex
fusion of oxygen and hydrogen
gives us life and means to live
coming in torrential roars
covering cities and destroying lives
like the others, it is merciless when angered
and knows no pity
when there is deprivation, we perish
when there is abundance, we perish
no Homo sapiens can live in it.
slicing its icy blade
we perceive its presence
not by anything tangible
but by the way things bang, crash and whirl
whipping up storms in angry vengeance
people cry and hide in shelters
nothing ever escapes from its wrath
like a shout hurled at the heavens
it curls its tongue of steel
brandished with diabolical vehemence
bringing upon even more devastation
misery and pandemonium
resulting in the fading out of humans
into absolute nothingness.
cracking, hissing and ablaze
it warms up many a life
from the bitter chill of winter
cooking many a meal for
famished stomachs
lighting up thousands of places
alas, inside an able slave lies
a suppressed domineering spirit
under poor restraint
when unleashed, becomes the
personification of the Devil himself
the very symbol of evil, sorrow and
all the pain and suffering on this creation
annihilating everything that comes in its path
without any leniency whatsoever
be wary of the person who causes
it to come down unto earth in full view of Man
for he is out to deceive the masses
into going with him to the place of eternal
Death and Damnation.
do not talk about love, peace, righteousness,
respect, joy, sympathy and anything else
that is morally upright
for these things are foreign to them.
+sober not punch drunk or love sick+
what does it mean
everything seems so bleak
tedious is the key word to life in general
finding fulfillment in things material
it goes unceasingly in an extremely
irritating manner
my whole body in uncontrollable spasms
head throbbing, mind in turmoil
barely registering what actions i am doing
sickly stomach churning unremittingly
lurching forward, spilling my guts out
unto the chestnut parquet floor
feeling confined, no one ever cares
wave of melancholy irons me down to the floor
i am sorry for myself
and yet i fathom history will reprise
dragging myself up, staggering to the bathroom
making my way to the mirror
sluggishly looking up at the
haggard appearance
bloodshot eyes and all
i see the robust person of yesteryear
long gone.
+prelude to a final end+
amidst the blazing sky
lies my epitaph
the epitome of a life lived
not beyond the boundaries of misery
nor within the reach of serene tranquility
an epilogue to every event
unfolded with the journey of time
told of a dozen hopes
foretold by an inspired mind
an element of Nature
sets itself in the very stage of my life
swirls of emotions twirled and fluttered
love it called itself
typifying an air of pure arrogance, unchallenged
created within the very figment of my mind
an introduction of eternal bliss
unaware of the unfazed, unknown
consequence should denote itself
separation hides
behind the very promise of Paradise
brought forth by shadows of Time
like a fallen angel
i fell to kiss the sacred Earth
and at that very moment then i realized
love hurts and scars
and it never heals
unfortunately forever.
+television+
are people aware of what's happening
turned-on TV kids find life lacking
thrillers and suspense are stimulating
eventually they find school boring
instead of turning off the set
they switch off from their lessons
much publicity of the bad effects
of sex and violence on television
endocrinologists have been worrying
little is made of children's viewing
when kids should be in bed
parents watch with them instead
suspense type programme appeals to adults
approving such intense excitement
the very act of watching them
produces a state of addiction
nervous intensity goes into the kids
overworked brains don't get to sleep
fatigue, exhaustion, irritability
depression, frustration, side effects soon begin
emerging constantly and so dangerous
ordinary life seems hazardous
they drop out of school to be in educable
the level of exposure intolerable
suffering from mental exhaustion
addiction soon turns into disruption
overstrained state is left unchecked
the kids end up withdrawing themselves
it takes a while to understand
and disastrous effects to comprehend
the longer it takes them to be normal
in which rest and relaxation are possible
the brain reaches beyond a point
creating chaos and troubling turmoil
mask the underlying depression
overdosing themselves in desperation
they put themselves in a difficult test
they end up blowing chances to rest
television is where East meets West
documentaries are still the best
developing their cultural identity
contributing to them emotionally
build physical and social intellectuality
escaping into the world of fantasy
thinking skills and imagination
problem solving through television
achieve the complex vocabulary
see relationships more maturely
learn organization skills
carving dimensions of experience at will
explore reality through such illusion
love or hate the television.
+queenstown+
6:16
eleven minutes
four destinations
but i can't go there anymore
like we used to at seven
memories became bits and pieces
something to remember
then forgotten
like the people standing on your way
looking at one another
passing the time given to them
i wonder if they asked for it
i hide behind faces
to not miss anything
and everything i hoped for
things are now different
like the clouds
i thought they hold promises
kept inside spaces between
our guilt and lies
and seats the hold fond memories gone
like dots and lines leading me to nowhere
pictures adverts hiding what's true
while you are so far away and i'm lost
between two ends of the subway
endless journey to a final destination
too afraid to end up where i began
and when suddenly the lights
came back to life
i look down the top
of bus no. 195
reflections of sorrow and
trauma of a love lost into
darkness of night
through the doors of the train
passing through each day
into fragments of our lives.
+poetic+
all the access are driven to theory
simulated like a snare and i
could not express myself
with my thoughts
i hit myself with this hardware
and am lost in the labyrinth of darkness
and i have knocked myself
onto every wall
cry like a river
river of depth so deep it can never cease
i am left alone in this vicinity
of strangeness
and there is nothing familiar
nothing of what i've gone through
inexperienced scenarios
where dilemma is after the head subject
and when it is supposed to be
the time for decisions
still i can't express my very own thoughts
i am unenlightened and so are they.
+red+
red is the color
of passion
blood and fury
love and devotion
passion is desire
zealous and intense
blood is gore
vicious and murderous
fury is wrath
fierce and vehement
love is affection
worship and arduous
devotion is faith
earnest and reverent
red is my favourite color.
+the perfect gift+
the perfect gift is not
a perlini's silver necklace
or a nokia handphone
i don't want that
pair of nike shoes
or a swatch watch
nor even the guess? bag
or a hershey's birthday cake
perhaps the perfect gift
is a pack of marlboro
and your smile
in the greeting card
from memory lane.
+words+
something to remember
something to falter
something to draw
something to withdraw
something to wonder
something to ponder
something to listen
something to question
something to mind
something to find
something to watch
something to catch
something to imply
something to deny.
+the woe+
these days i've been
preoccupied by circumstances
it ejects a warning
the way i was perturbed
it is a tangled confusion
in my mind revolving
it casts a limelight over me
my spirit dreads
i am looking upon the threat
i undergo
now i'm glued to the blues
with my handicapped emotion
i look forward to a day
when all these tragedies
flee to concede me to lead a
glorious life.
+reasons why i hate wedding invitations+
you are cordially invited
to a wedding lunch
on the occasion of
the marriage of
Norizah and Zulkifli
menu:
nasi minyak, mixture yellow orange white
rice with raisins peanuts, yes, it is very oily
16 mmol/L, 18 mmol/L, 20 mmol/L, BMI 30
dhalcar, thin-gravied watery and stew-like
resembling someone else's digested meal
putchree, four stingy triangular pieces of
pickled pineapples per serving; not enough
for a family; garnished with a thin red chilli
achar, a product of cucumbers not juicy
thinly sliced in strips with pocket knives
gossipmonger makciks during the rewang
ayam masak merah and rendang daging
not so piping hot and if you are unlucky
you will see this again the next reception
sambal udang, sorry we don't have
because prawns are too expensive
special event:
bridegroom's arrival
accompanied by a bus of
family members and close relatives
lavish wedding gifts worth a total of
$10,000, later in life, pay off debts
little kids waving around their
red, blue, green, golden colour
sticks of the bunga mangga
a following of young girls
in their fancy body hugging
baju kurung kebayas and
ten-inch platforms who
would rather die than to
slip and fall in front of the
bespectacled kompang boys
with cigarette burnt lips
look out for:
the deejay and compere playing the latest
of dangdut duets and hindustani melodies
until five o'clock; loud enough for the whole
neighbourhood to hear; they close windows
karaoke-crazy old couples
whose happiness lies at
the tip of the microphone
even though their voices
can't synchronize with lyrics
a pack of housewives
sitting in a big circle
arms full of gold bangles
fingers, thumb and toes
decorated with gold rings
they must have wished
they have more hands
ears drooping with heavy
22 karat and they dare
to punch more than a hole
per ear and this is much
to their children's surprise
the only chance to show off
their wealth is on sundays
they complain of children
asking for too much money
but they look forward to yet
another visit to golden chance
in the hope to win lucky draw
prize of $2,222 worth of cash
at their husbands' expense
may they get robbed in lifts.
finale:
remember not to leave the
glass of sweets (or soaps)
sugus and lux from mama shop
replacing the traditional token
of egg and pulut as thank you
for attending the wedding lunch
your presence is greatly appreciated.
+water matters now and then+
in memory of Tsunami victims...
Two hydrogen atoms, one of oxygen
Once Nature's gifted molecule
Now a symbol of God's dominion
Once essential for homo sapiens
Now abundance of death
Once a basic for the needy
Now a droplet of threat
Once quenching for the thirsty
Now it's thirsting for our breaths
Once a cure for the living
Now a catalyst for the dying
Once a friend to the young ones
Now their faith it hath betrayed
Once a strength to the lands
Now pollution to the sands
Once aseptic to the nurses
Now contamination to their hands
Once holy to the Christians
Once sacred to the Hindus
Once chaste to the Muslims
Once immaculate to the Jews
Once a cleanse to our wounds
Now inscriptions on our tombs
Once it swept away our fears
Now its fear sins our souls
As it subtly chokes us slow
While our guilty conscience grows
It was once worth saving for
Now it harbors all our sorrows
So don't drown in tears no more
'Cos it still matters tomorrow.
+waiting+
she watches the pen
embracing paper
carving memories
of a sad love story
she tore the pages
folding them to halves
gasping for breath
she's cold and thirsty
like a lost child
she hangs loose
like a piece of paper
searching for a pen.
+vibes+
for Zahiruddin, such a pity of us...
as i walked into the music store
to search what i was looking for
i saw a blue figure by the door
gazing down at the dusty floor
to a harpsichord ballad i listened
at one of the listening stations
i caught him looking at my direction
right behind the books section
magazines appeal to me too
as i curiously flipped through
pages of top 40 album reviews
i guess he thought of his idols too
as i moved to his right briefly
and he kindly gives way to me
i bent down to pick a copy
of michael stipe* staring at me
i watched him reading silently
so engrossed in his activity
a walkman as his company
like something attracting me
as i headed to the counter to pay
for the best-selling album of the day
i felt the desperate need to say
'hope to meet you again someday'.
+unresolved and unsavory+
we end up having lives out of glory boxes
and despair lay on side by side while
we are blameworthy and amiss.
+the lyrical trainspotter+
tribute to Paul Draper...
more than just a
slender five feet nine
wallpaper face
visionary doe-eyed
chester-bred whipping boy
lyrical contradiction
good looking paradox
you're my desperate icon.
more than just the
unpretentious falsetto
melodiously rich
soothing melancholia
youthful naivety
ambition at its peak
whine of a new beginning
you're my vocal chords.
more than just those
myriad critics and
dreams between your venetian blinds
you're my beautiful misanthropist.
as aesthetic as your beauty
non-conformist as your ideology
anthemic as your symphony
majestic as a cubist painting
androgynous as your vanity
thriving as your creativity
artistic as your literature
legendary as rock and roll
as frightened as your demi-god status
more than you had before and presently got.
so sing a song for me, Paul,
and i will believe in you
as much as you believe in
whatever that lies for you
beneath those
army shirts and boiler suits.
+side street broken spirits+
every night
i never fail
to walk along
the side street
which does not
promise them a
comfortable earning
from their
daily begging.
+sometimes+
sometimes
when i sit in front of
the television
switching channels
while humming a tune
i wonder if it is
worth spending
time and space
doing this
or perhaps i should
find something
better to do.
+scent of a letter+
for Ellelynia...
as i read the contents of your letter
your smile surfaced at the center
before i knew i could clearly hear
your voice in the scent of the letter
if the words you have written
spell a promise not to be broken
then this letter is as fragrant
as my hope for your return.
+revolution+
isn't it funny
how we people
create our own
mishap and
leave them
unresolved?
how do Negroes
suffered through
haplessly during
sour times and
had failed to
win people's
compassion
and perhaps
they should
need another
revolution?
i always wished
that money can
buy everything
but the price of
love is nothing
anyone could
afford so perhaps
this is something
revolutionary?
monks who
always think
they're holy
perfection
but some
caught while
eating pork
sins committed
should they
repent and
revolutionize?
isn't it funny
how people
practising
hypocrisy
contradiction
as circumstances
reveal that such
human nature
may not need
a revolution?
i can always
say that i am
a noteworthy
poet laureate
in a small
mediocre world
does it mean
i need to go
through my own
revolution?
my little hands
are meant to
write only poems
but that hardly
explains why
i am using
typewriter
and i am sure
i don't need any
revolution.
+unknown pleasures+
such a pleasure
of not having you here
every night
no one will tell me
to switch off the lights
or lower the volume
of the stereo
there is peace
that i need
to write poetry
till six at dawn
without a blink
of the eye
because my thoughts
knows no sleep
no wasting time
despite having to breathe in
the musk calvin kleined air
leaving me with nothing
but hatred
instead of
memories of you
such a pleasure
not having you here
every night
on the bottom bunk
and sometimes
i wish my bed
would collapse
from above.
+photograph+
i always ask myself
why am i not
as pretty as you are
why do i have an
unattractive nose
or that gaping teeth
always appearing
whenever i crack a smile
i hate smiling in pictures
my chin short and
jutting like cleft
lips pouty
an image of a sulk
i hate looking sullen
in pictures with you
so starry beside me
no matter what
it will forever
remain a memory
if there is one thing
i hate about me
is that i am not
as photogenic as you are
in any photograph.
+perilous trap+
how do i please them
will i get misdirected
towards what lies outside
on my sphere to seek others
on my own terms
and in my eyes
i lose my hold
on my purpose
while i seek the truth
you seek to seek
so tell me
what is essential now?
what is worthy now?
+paroxysm+
looks like i'm bedridden again
try to sleep myself out of pain
almost falling into insanity
but good luck embraces me
and luck can change in time
being frail and weak isn't a crime
infirmity converts me to fragility
complicated pieces broken inside me
migraines with disorders of the eyesight
nausea pushes its way throughout my gut
gastric chants chewing off my chest
static coldness fills its emptiness
cramps poke me hard into the ribs
electrifying shingles at the fingertips
i cannot stomach such ills anymore
i wonder what painkillers have in store
i vomit out this pain
while my blood is frozen
as i panic on my bed
i am sweating on the head
i vomit out the pain
and the strains clogged in my brain.
+race+
i don't know if there'll ever be
one day that they will all
pronounce my name correctly and
stop calling me the Malay girl.
+on a train+
doors closing
please stand clear of
public displays of affection
at the doorway
burying faces into chests
as if hiding their shame
please stand clear of
faces in the crowd
buzzing past
nefariously kiasu
jumping onto seats
like boy snatching paper
please stand clear of
yuppies and white-collars
in blue long sleeves
and tinted hair
out of Shenton Way
heading home from a
nine-to-five day job
perhaps hurrying for a beer
and a quickie in the bar
please stand clear of
polytechnic teens
conversations of
nothing but exams
clubbing and mobile phones
when they are bored
they play 'snake'
or snap pictures
delete pictures
of their mild
narcissistic self
please stand clear of
tired fathers enjoying
the taste of public transport
if only looks could tell
are they teachers
or general cleaners
please stand clear of
pungent odor
sweaty bodies of
uniformed children
and NS men
catching up with sleep
please stand clear of
foreign workers
banglas who can't
keep their eyes to themselves
you feel like showing
the middle finger
please stand clear of
old ladies right out
of the hair salon
reminding me of
tv's golden girls
hair permed brown
they can't accept the reality
that hair loss is part of
the aging process
please stand clear of
little ones climbing up grab poles
and stumbling over
stretched legs
their mothers shamelessly
hollering in public
they think they make
good mothers.
the images i see everyday
in train rides starting
to question the need
for me to bring along
something to read or
should i take the bus instead?
next stop
wonderland.
+nightmare+
i opened my eyes and saw
me tied with a rope secured
as thick as noose
to a railway track
two figures before me
like shadows in the black
then came the death train
whistles of thunder
overpowering my screams
as floodlights force me
down into the bottomless
of this bad dream
of no ending
i woke up and heard
my grandmother say
'wash your feet
before you sleep'
i then realized
it was just a nightmare
i had on a regular basis
reminding me of the
significance to be
close to god.
+never forgotten+
as the cars flew by
with the sands of time
moving on and never stop
we were chatting in bus no. 10
laughter surrounds us
glancing at each other
there wasn't a need to speak
or to touch
for you and i will always be
the best of friends
there could be this
you may not know
but we shall stay in us hearts
till we cease to exist.
+nephew+
my nephew is a lonely boy
once he said he would run away
he wants to fly to antartica
to live with penguins in the snow
'cos he is as lonely as lonely
lonely like me.
+namesake+
siti fazliana insists on
being known as liana
or preferably, ana.
sounds western, glamorous
and exotic, she thought.
she doesn't like it if
we call her siti
it's so common, old-fashioned
and sounds like a girl from
the kampong, she thought.
there are too many
siti-somethings around.
but when siti nurhaliza
calls herself siti,
ana and the siti-somethings
threw their middle names away.
+mythical+
you cut to pieces
is a promise of life
constantly reborn
this creation myth
decay is behold
leaves are falling
life is sacrificing
struggle and becoming
a path and a footprint
power walks on will
secret of your soul
so creative.
+mellon collie and the infinite sadness+
for Goh K.W....
almost melon
that spiky mass of hair
dyed reddish brown
tortoiseshell glasses
almost concealing
the eyes that are
shrouded with unknown
thought that i can only
try to comprehend
avoidance of mutual
eye contact
but inwardly communicating
strong vibes are felt
the feeling of those
eyes boring into my back
visualization of that
expressionless facade
comes to my mind
spinning around
only to find him
hastily looking in
another direction
inwardly sighing
a failed attempt
once again.
+lonesome+
the full moon hiding in solitude
dipping into the mist of gray clouds
while loneliness soothes itself silently
like an empty house on an island
surrounded by a sea of no real friends
only accompanied by the chirping
of the migrating birds seeking hospitality.
+journey home+
on my way home
i contemplated
whether i made
the right decision
to leave you there
while the rain
that was patting
on the bus window
whistled a song
of wanting to be
a free bird.
+(it must have been) infatuation+
for Reyna, though i wished i've never known you at all...
it must have been-
the way your long hair
falls straight and elegant
like silk curtain
draping over shoulders
as heavy as your sigh
a breath burdened and weighed
yet stays in place
the way you flick that
jagged edge copper fringe
almost touching your soft
faraway turkish violet eyes
so rich and intense
but sullen and sorrowful
told of a dozen hopes
the way those black polyesters
cling onto your slender legs
as you catwalk briskly
making your way through
the sea of people
crushed in between
yet confident and poised
the way you ask me
for some loose change
for your crisp dollar bill
your voice raspy and polite
electrocuting me
at my fingertips
like a wet dream
the way your hand
meets mine gracefully
so baby-soft and smooth
like those out of detergent ads
cold but with warmth
so static my eyes veiled
as you whisper, 'thank you.'
the way you smiled at me
as you speed for the bus
your lips glossy and flawless
tomato-succulent, mango-luscious
my knees loosened at the twinkle
of your dimples so hollow
no wonder your cheekbones so beautiful
but when the bus takes off
and as you slowly fade
out of my sight
i started to question
my sexuality
i feel like being a man.
+indecisive+
i was LEFT
in the MIDDLE
and it took me
a ROUNDABOUT
before i got into
the RIGHT lane.
+human nature vs. human habit+
they who regard
human nature as human habit
are truly genuine while
they who regard human habit
as human nature
are those trying
to excuse themselves
from the habits they have.
+chatroom haiku+
haiku is a Japanese-style poem comprising of three lines per verse, first and third lines consisting of five syllables each and second line made up of a total of seven syllables...
hello, how are you?
i am feeling fine, thank you
and what about you?
i am male, nineteen
doing national service
intro yourself, please
female, twenty-six
a part-time receptionist
you sure you don't mind?
age doesn't matter
i'm only to chit chat here
not serious than this
i'm glad to hear that
you don't mind an older girl
may i know your name?
just call me Jeffrey
are you single or married?
do you have siblings?
i am still single
why do you ask that question?
i have a sister
and how old is she?
she's seventeen, in jc
so, what's her name?
her name is Sherry
i haven't told you my name
but well, what's the point?
why? what do you mean?
you're more interested in her
because she's younger
don't get so upset
it's just a conversation
with casual questions
okay, i'm sorry
so, what do you have in mind?
let's start a topic
let's talk about you
your interests, your height, your weight?
oh wait, what's your name?
+over flo+
nuked away from existence
the only consolation
is that someday we might meet
where death no longer reigns
and for eternity love is to keep.
+friendship sonnet+
a sonnet is a verse with seven pairs of rhyming lines...
friends come and go
like pain and sorrow
like rain and wealth
like birth and death
friends are like fruits
some bad some good
sweet inside coarse outside
smooth outside wormed inside
some friends are real
some friends can kill
some friends will lead
some friends mislead
but too many or little friends
doesn't matter much in the end.
+finding illumination in patterns of the past+
standing upon this winding road
i look back
only to catch a glimpse
of a darting shadow
a symbolic image of my darkened past
gleaming and searching
for that very opportunity
whereby it will spring its very harm
to my already wounded soul
like a vulture preying
seeking only to penetrate the hearts
of those vulnerable and weak
i am out to fulfill a wondrous journey
that will only sought to bring me
to a memorable destiny
a destiny full of joy and serenity
how far will i ever reach
i wonder
about a bizarre truth
subtle yet profound
overwhelmed my very thoughts
as i searched for that element
of existence
paradoxes fill every corner
as answers only provided me
yet another question
there is a vast void
in my realm of sanity
traumatic effects colour my soul
deception and lies
blurred my sight
as emotional sentiments no longer expressed
what the mind hides
alpha and omega
enigmatic
that is my life.
+thirst, coldness and uti+
.deb ym gnittew fo
reaf eht tuohtiw
thgin yreve
peels dluoc i hsiw i
+motheternity+
your warmth is like
sunshine
showering
sunflowers
your touch is like
care
comforting
a child
your love is
endless
enduring
till eternity.
+dyslexia+
for Rushdah...
girl cannot read
girl cannot spell
girl hates math
girl doesn't know what to tell
mother the homework for the day.
mother scolds
mother beats
tutor scolds
tutor quits
class teacher thinks
girl is stupid
girl only wants to play.
spell 'cat'
c-a-g
spell 'walk'
w-o-k-l
spell 'here'
g-n-o-o
10 + 3 = 30
12 + 1 = 31
2 + 2 = 5
one minus zero?
girl said 'I DON'T KNOW!'
+difficulties encountered+
it's been a long time
since i haven't written a poem
not because i ran out ideas
maybe it is my laziness
i may be rhetorical at times
persuading those to get it
my way, give in, give up,
such cyclonic phenomena
i developed a tenacious temptation
of being too sensitive
it is not conceptions that i fear
but the need to move forward
i will live the life i lead
definitely.
+through death and calamity+
miserable thoughts to avoid
stop averting eyes from thy life
contemplate everything in squares
witness our spiritual progress
confronting death and calamity
face the realities of infirmity
illusions, pseudo hopes and envy
disappointment, loss, are we free?
+common logic+
propriety is a different thing
with appropriate application
does 'is it night or is it day?'
a preposition that works well
in a provocative or friendly
or an empty conversation?
feel your body appreciating
delicacies of good manners
and your soul in aware of
sweet personal refinement
when each have a place of its own.
+claustrophobia maze+
the only way to find
the way out of this
tangled web of confusion
is to have faith in god
and may you be safe from
being lost in this never ending
labyrinth of closed exits
that estranges you from the sweet
pleasures of a life worthwhile.
+c.i.a.+
for Alice...
how many methods you tried
into prolixity you're fumbling
they're heard them all before
aren't you tired of repeating?
controlling whatever i possess
my idolatrous love for money
had inherited the unhappiness
as it was taken away from me
you don't believe my intuitions
been mistrusting my own forte
relented situations have left
me with nothing more to say
and as we are drained in days
status-consciousness invades
we will never get richer
when our greed is here.
+by the river+
the last time i sat down by the river
was on a wednesday in november
as i breathed in the salty sting of water
without feeling seasick
reflections of moonlight shimmers
on the clear calm cold water
like synchronized waves of fire
lovers embraced one another
at the end of esplanade park
shoulder to shoulder
hand in hand
lips on lips
the luckiest people on earth, i thought
i felt a sense of happiness and
shared that piece of moment
passengers in bumboats
enjoying tranquil beauty
caressing historic river
smiles of children
cuddling onto parents
charming and visible
from where i watched
a sudden spray of joy
made me take out my sketchbook
i started to draw lines and lines
that eventually formed the bridge
before me
while the japanese tourists
crowded behind
waiting for a finished masterpiece.
+blissful teenage angst+
p r e j u d i c e
so many to p l ease
FEAR of what others might think of THIS
H A PP i N E SS
place of e m p t i n e s s
eXpreSSionleSS fEElings
already INvadINg
i am gOOd. but i want to be rude.
so they will NOT
S
T
E
P
on the TOP of my head
BE BAD BE GLAD BE MAD BE SAD
leave this place
stILL not too late
GAIN back time i WASTE
CANNOT WAIT cannot w a i t
i owe people . helpful . REALreelfriends .
just a MATTER of when? ? ?
what i have SEEN is BEYOND what i magine
IN sen SIT ive MADness hatRED arouses
M A T E R I A L I S M
RULE$
unimportant to fOOls
s i m p l i c i t y forgoTTen
what happened?
what happened?
what happened?
what happened?
PAINTED FACES with ugly C O L O U R S
i wish they would F A D E
but i f a d e d instead
sinfultoregretneverdothat
D O N O T D O T H A T
l i s t e n t o DAD
do what he sA I D
g i r l s so conscious .boys obnoxIOUS
my thoughts h e t e r o g e n o u s
i am androgynous
a n d r o g y n o u s not g e n u i n e. GENUINE.
UN-truth always W I N S
what is it there? what else is it there ?
nothing NO thing seems to CARE carecare c a r e
a b o u t every ever y t h in g.
they say me things. THEY call me things
the imPRESSions i bRING
n o FREE dom
e a c h a n d e v e r y t e r m
gOOD rules should be FIRM.
c a G i n G SOULS in BORE dom.
it's okay.
it's okay it's okay OKAY?
it's OK.
what i want to say what i cannot say
the society. a pity. what i feel is why i am [ILL]
DIS g r a c e FUL
UN g r a t e FUL
I AM OUT
i.am.out.
but CRYing OUT loud
so sunken so drunken
i am. not a whole DAMN BIG lot.
i am NOT a wHOLE damn big lot.
i wish you all away
i wish you all away
i WISH Y O U A LL A W A Y.
HOPE it is DIFFERENT one day 1 1 111 .1.
HOPE it is D I F F E R E N T oneday.
+the blame game+
the gradual extinguishing of blame
is a sign of a dawning moral progress
of sweeping emotional reactions
that is of no concern to us.
+birthday+
the first of july
a date too significant
not to remember
you sent me a birthday wish
with just the click of a button
so was your last drawn salary
being spent on utilities
you internet junkie
and what's left isn't much
to buy a proper card
in replace of yourself?
+bilingual+
you malay? speak malay lah!
why want to speak english?
want to slang like ang-moh?
action mat salleh konon
one day must have the
speak melayu campaign.
i speak melayu cannot lah!
my malay broken, koyak, rabak!
i speak english at home, everywhere
my english A1, my malay C6, man!
now everyone speak english mah?
ya lah, nowadays all must be like that
apa sia? on TV also kena interview
in suria channel, they also got speak
english because like susah like that
must mix-mix here and there lah!
see lah, never speak malay, lupa
and all the words forgot so fast
all people watching, tak malu ah?
malay show speak malay lah dey!
english pun english, melayu pun mesti
sekali one day dikir barat in english
no wonder people listen to english songs
and knows no 'aku cinta kamu' but
'i will always love you, baby.'
aiyoh!
+benci+
aku benci pada mu
jikalau diriku tuhan
akan ku bunuh dirimu
tetapi iman mengingatkan
erti kesabaran sesungguhnya
benci itu perihal syaitan
yang sentiasa mengasapi
hidup dan perasaanku.
+bed+
the night is so silent
i could hear the stars cry
and the moon is full
as full as my heart
brimming with melancholy
just a matter of moments
when the real longing
disappear and reappear
in another bedtime
like another cycle
i feel myself in bed
legs spread wide
in the coldness of
beneath the covers
studying patterns
of rock stoned ceiling
counting sheep
my eyes returning me
into the dark realm
where i would be
all by myself once again.
+jual-beli pantun+
published in Berita Harian 15th December 1999...
awan berarak di waktu senja
gagak pulang bersuara riang
gema suara akui merdeka
kebebasan diraih bererti kemenangan
sungai mengalir ke muara
airnya jernih dipancar suria
penjajah terhapus rakyat merana
kerajaan baru sama zalimnya
tarian zapin diiringi rebana
iramanya indah memecah suasana
anak merdeka bersifat mulia
sentiasa memperjuangkan hak negara
putih dan pekat perahan santan
dimasak lemak sayur nangka
bunuh-membunuh sesama insan
nama merdeka tapi kurang etika
angin bertiup sepoi bahasa
desiran ombak sayu terasa
biarlah sengsara hidup di dunia
asalkan merdeka dari seksa neraka
berkibar megah panji negara
di tiang besi berdiri tinggi
merdeka hanya pada zahirnya
akal ditawan tidak disedari.
+a poem for father+
for whatever we had been through
i had always wanted to tell him
that sometimes it is not his fault.
+an unforgettable moment+
is when you spilled your coke
and wet your pants
at long john silvers
and i couldn't help
laughing at the look on your face.
+anti-hero[in(e)]+
empty dreams
so extreme
discouraging
without meaning
fat chances
into pieces
constant fights
sullen nights
illusionist
pessimist
desperation
disappointment
broken hearted
low spirited
silent strides
wounded pride
high wishes
ambitious
chances flew
never come true
waster efforts
different methods
displeasure
born failure
everything
overwhelming
heartache
painful take
mirage appears
and disappears
blown away
never stay.
+make sure it's ancient+
it's like a whirl
that revolves round you
it has a beautiful scent
that smells of sweetness
it conveys compliments
when you desire
it's neon-like
should it be secured
it's scathe-less
it's ancient
don't want to lose this
should it be sustained
it's perdurable
it's unchangeable
we might lose it
it has an uncanny sound
that makes you feel scared
it's neither smooth nor rough
as you can't feel it
it has got wings
but it won't fly
it's cone-like.
+a dirty appraisal+
you are muck
commonly stubborn
stale and dried
pathetically clinging
onto the cheap iron spade
from the night bazaar
rusty overnight
ignored and put aside
you are grime
accompanied by oil marker stains
scrawling on dusty railings
vandalism act of immoral teenagers
by the highway of fumes
out of exhaust pipes
plated with crows' excrement
and unsuccessful attempts at spitting
you are mud
the chunks of sun dried filth
still wet and moist within
in between chipped hoofs
of the black sheep
stumbling upon itself
deservingly mired
deep down into the
waterlogged ground
you are smudge
of the illegible handwriting
like ugly doodles
out of a broken ballpoint
on an atrocious essay
of a tarnished grade
not worth to be read
you are slime
the thick monstrous paste
of green sticky mucus
pongy and fresh
straight from the nose of
a marijuana addict
you are the unwashed
foul of a mess
sordid and vulgar
as obscene as pornography
as corrupt as indecency
you are the clouded dark
that blackens my mind
like the bad apple at the
bottom of the fridge
cornered with worms.
