Ode to fallen but unwanted heroes

The Japanese had long since gone,
their bayonets are no longer drawn;
The long fought bitter war was won
but sadly not for those truly fallen

From the holes emerged ethnic heroes
who had stayed still while others died,
to shamelessly rob victory from others
whose real sacrifices are now denied

Eliminate any hero’s deeds and name,
erase their service from our memory;
don't remind the bigots of their shame,
their absence in defending our country

Smash to smithereens their memorial
New ‘heroes’ need the broken bricks
to build their ethnic wira credential,
complete with keris, hornets & tricks


Omar Khayyam & Kari Perut Ikan

Here with a Loaf of Bread beneath the Bough,
A Flask of Wine, a Book of Verse - and Thou
Beside me singing in the Wilderness -
And Wilderness is Paradise enow.

- Omar Khayyam

Omar Khayyam I am not, but when
mum cooked delicious kari perut ikan,
I dashed to the village bakery to buy
a loaf of bread for jolly good makan

There were long beans, fresh pineapple,
daun limau purut, & purple aubergine,
pickled fish roe and stuff best not told;
that last part, it’s better to just imagine

Then mum added fresh shelled shrimps
to the curry for extra marvellous taste;
I dipped my crusty roti into the mélange
to scoop and eat all, there was no waste

I sat beneath the bough of a belimbing
tree, to tuck away a feast just wondrous,
but without a flask of wine or singing,
and I have no time for a book of verse

Mum chose jasmine rice, and sis bihun,
but all with helpings of kari perut ikan;
It’s Siamese style cuisine, hot and spicy
pepper-ish curry, healthily sans santan

And you may ask why I didn’t include
you, my sayang, the one called ‘Thou’;
I couldn’t 'cause Paradise’d be absent
when the curry for me was not enow

What is tom yum kai or shark fin soup,
soup kambing or even chicken wantan;
all these are but nothing when compared
to mum’s incomparable kari perut ikan

Oh, by the way, have you even guessed yet
that secret ingredient of my mother’s curry
If you still haven’t got it, hold tight to your
seat, cause it’s yummy pickled fish tummy


Memories of kampong sounds

The singing of the bullfrogs
throughout the humid night
told us it would not be long
before rain gave cool delight

The humming of the cicadas
pulsed in chirring monotone,
serenading an evening stroller,
suddenly silence, he's all alone

Long before dawn, I awoke
to a rooster's loud crowing;
once, twice, thrice, then the
sparrows started twittering

But now I hear those sounds
only vaguely in my memory,
while I am blasted daily with
noises, discordant, incessantly,

of car horns and roaring bikes,
harsh pounding and clanging
of piling hammers, & strato-
blasters of motorcars passing

Oh, of black-naped orioles,
what would I give to hear
their sweet warbling again,
‘ere they too soon disappear


No footprint in the sand

I was all alone on the beach
strolling towards the red sun
lying on the western horizon;
T’was when night had begun.

Every step I took on the wave
beaten beach, the silver sand
rose up between my wet toes,
and thus leaving on the land

my footprints of the evening,
till the murmuring waves swept
away the tracks I made, leaving
no memory of where I stepped.

Years later I went to that beach.
To hear the waves roar cheekily:
‘Ah, you’re back’, hinting again
I'd leave no footprint as memory.


Where are the dragonflies?

Eons ago, by the village pond
I saw wonderful flitting things,
& recall delightful memories of
miracles with gossamer wings

I saw one of deep turquoise blue
hovering over the leaf of a lotus,
while another of orangey colour
rested on the violet convolvulus

Darting there, then hovering here,
creating rainbows in the sunlight
wherever they flew, continuing so
till daylight gave way to the night

I wonder where are the dragonflies,
after they've turned the village pond
into a filthy junk pit, devoid of water,
blooms, blue morning glory or frond


49th Merdeka

What a day!
Enjoy, rejoice
Be safe out there

Look to the left
at your neighbours
Go, hold their hands

Look to the right
It's the forgotten
Help pick them up

Look right around
at those left behind
Do take them along

What a day!
Enjoy, rejoice,
Best if together


Children of Qana

Lying still in Qana's mud
of dust mixed with blood,
children broken in bodies,
mums wrecked in miseries

Death came from the sky
to maim, kill, & destroy,
from hearts full of hate,
minds of evil incarnate

Among bloodied debris,
pierced young bodies
by Death's burnished steel
of cruel sharp shrapnel

But streaks of blood mar
its blue six-pointed star;
Turn Death the other way
to see it say Made in USA


Tremble - Last Communist Cometh!

The Daily News screamed:
Ye all tremble for he is here!
Who, who? We all shivered;
Who should we truly fear?

He, the evil
Last Communist,
a danger to society, our bane.
What? That trembling old man,
the one with the walking cane?


Chap Goh Meh

Arising from the distant sea,
She casts her silvery beams
on us all below, and the sea
smiles back at her, it seems;

one bright eye, high above,
with her glow bathing us all,
the other eye floating on the
sea as the waves rise and fall;

the girl casts a golden orange,
to the moon goddess in the sea;
praying for Her kind blessing
to grant her blessed matrimony.

Tonight is when yin and yang
are in perfect sweet harmony,
to bring a good man and good
woman together in joyous unity.


Siapa Raja!

Don’t ever question, ya, me,
Limpeh, arm pai, aku, Saya.
Lu tremblingly bow to Wah,
don’t ever forget siapa Raja!

Aku puan & tuan, kau hamba
but with sexy voluptuous bum;
question not my lustful grope
because I want badly to cum!

Leer, ogle, probe, slap, grope
are but my usual lustful way;
what I, thy tuan choose to do,
you just have no f**king say!

Kau boleh protest, plead, cry.
They but fall on wax-filled ears
of your selected wakil raykat
for 5 more f**king long years.


Proudly Beneath Sang Saka Biru

yes, down, up, down, up, down
and hang on to both your ears,
do continue till something falls
out, but not counting your tears

wriggle your bare hips gently
and swing your breasts to & fro,
then turn around for the video
remember to smile & say hello

we are nothing less than the law,
so don't fret or blush my li'l dear,

it's our tradition that you be nude
we want to know when all's clear

we are here to serve and protect
proudly beneath Sang Saka Biru,
yes, we serve our own interests
and protect our own people too

In a Perfect Country!

a perfect country
of immense wealth;
wants for nothing,
save compassion

a perfect country
spick and span;
no dirt! not even

messy feelings

a perfect country
financial centre,
shipping Mecca,
Darfur of mercy

a perfect country
of resolute leaders;
articulate, brainy
but missing a heart

a perfect country
of rules and laws;

OK to do this that
but mustn't hug

a perfect country
of rugged people;
fit, strong, healthy
but without a soul


The Door

in life’s journey
down a corridor,
everyone arrives
soon at the door

marked DEATH;
not one can say
I am turning back
or here I’ll stay;

long corridor,
short corridor,
all must open
the inevitable door;

what lies behind?
no one has a clue,
but all will know
when they step thru'

the door one day;
we want to know more
about that gateway;
is it the final door

to a divine kingdom
or dreadful Gehenna
or one of many doors
of eternal Samsara?

Home and Free

it’s a Sunday, a sunny beautiful day,
the day I
return home, finally free
of earthly worries, hatred and woes
to rest my body beneath a gum tree

returning in a coffin, a crate if you like,
sealed and stamped ‘No Longer Fragile’
but still unloaded with careful gentleness
to pass customs check, ‘cuse me if I smile

for my brother, I went outbound alone,
came home with him, reason no longer
matters, but I remember all my friends,
love, memories but most of all, mother

it’s a yin-yang world here, where those
hatred, scorn, jeers wash off me gently,
like night’s retreat from the early dawn
of kindness shone by friends and family

distant bells & distant chimes

on his last walk,
greeted by
who leads him
to the final point

for a place
far beyond
lack of compassion,
to finally rest;

distant bells
chime 25 times
for his time here,

distant chimes
in minister's office,
"sir, phone call"

Cricket at Dawn

till he's run
out forever,
at dawn

men in white
on green oval,
women in black
in cold tiled room

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