25 November 2007

Malaysiakini photo

Just last week, I happened to be in a bank when the windscreen of a car parked outside was smashed. When a man rushed in to report it to the security guards, the same question came out of the mouths of several people: Orang India ke?

No one squirmed at hearing this, and I was furious. Since when has racial profiling in crime become acceptable? It may be common in other countries too, but it is perhaps at its ugliest in Malaysia. We live in a land where the ruling coalition is constantly seeking to cripple our ability to think. Come across any problem? Just race-stereotype it and all the real causes vanish.

- Josh Hong, columnist for Malaysiakini in his article Indian revolt: The morning after


I walked on 25 November 2007
In the man-made acid showers
Which burnt my skin and those
Of my brothers and sisters too
But the chemically poisoned rain
Could not burnt away the tears
That’s in our hearts for 50 years
But merely fertilised our resolve

Through the thick fog of tear gas
We held our hands together and
Marched on to tell the world of
An unjust economic caste system
That places us at the very bottom
As menial pariahs, harijans, dalits
Oh, don’t be shy, take your pick
Any, each would still read our lot

Just like a fusion bomb, our ‘H’
Gave a mega blast to hitherto
Silent acquiescence and equally
Silent dismissal of our cries for
Help against cold cruel inequality
Are we nothing more than serfs
Slaves, sherpas to failed Hillary’s
Or as prêt-à-porter criminals?

The explosion of our H-synergy
Tore away masks of hypocrisy
Ripping to shreds the snow white
Fleece of ethnic wolves, howling
At black sheep not cukup Bersih
Not even of de facto human status
To merit the march in messianic
Footsteps to the Arc de Triomphe

Remembering Preeshena Varshiny

Star Online photo

Hah, we are made in God’s image
Then, we’re all but God’s creation
So we have been told by the sage
In each and every wise generation

I’m the late Preeshena Varshiny
I suppose I am God’s creature
Who’s now gone to the Almighty
After my cruel death thro’ murder

Did someone miss telling the killer
Before he perpetrated evil on me
That we’re endowed with the nature
Of God’s love, compassion, charity

So was I life’s typo for back space?
Too late, too late I am forever gone
Not a breath left, not a single trace
In my young cold body lying forlorn

I was only nine years old, yet to be
Ten, eleven and of more warm years
How’d I have known of such cruelty
Flooding my family’s life with tears

So pray, no, not for unfortunate me
Please do pray for my dearest family
As they cried over my wee cold body
They’ll ask how this has come to be

Winter

One morning green buds peek out shyly
to see if they were too early for Spring,
but on noticing the neighbouring trees
were festooned with white, crimson and
pink blooms, burst forth with impatience,
understandably so after a long slumber
through a cold dark spell of suppression;
'tis time for renewal, 'tis time for new life,
each bud competing with its awoken sibling
to dress the tree with cool green leaves
in a verdant dance with the cool breeze
of the new season, drawing bees, birds
and butterflies, with their buzzing, trilling
and dainty flutter to the cherry blossoms

Yet in all these, Spring's wondrous glory,
I hesitate to rejoice, and for a moment
remember Winter's cold bold ambition,
its show of strength in naked branches
stretching out to the grey sky up above
while crystal clear icicles hang, dripping
threatening, yet pristinely pure, all shorn
of hypocrisy, unsullied, no coyish evasion;
sanitizing the land with a white virgin cloak
it signals its haughty intent to dominate
soon again; I thought of its freezing days
and strangely I yearn for the dignity of the
solitude, asceticism, and uncompromising
tenacity and peace that Winter gives me

Remembering Nurin Jazlin Jazimin

Malaysiakini photo - Nurin Jazlin Jazimin

I am only eight years old
Just five years from my teens
Which I will now never see
And it’s more than just that
For I won’t see too the sun
Nor the moon nor the rain
Nor feel the soft pitter patter
Of warm raindrops gathering
In my tresses, running gently
Down to my once warm body

I am only eight years old
Denied my youth, cut down
With no dignity, with no one
I love besides me, to hold me
As I trembled from violence
Inexplicable cruelty, no pity
No chance to say goodbye
To emak and ayah and pals
Why, no one can tell me now
Too late, I am part of the dark

I am only eight years old
Will you remember me as
You'd Altantuyaa Shaariibuu
Not a glamorous beauty
No high profile case in me
Just a neighbourhood kid
I have never been abroad
To France or European cities
Just local Wangsa Maju
An innocent child, no more

I am only eight years old
So why do they say it’s all
God’s Will, dear wonderful
God who loves us all, why
Blame Him, for it was Evil
Who stalked me as a prey
Be like the Chinese and bury
Me in red clothing, armed
With scissors in my hands
To set me off as Rhamnousia

Where fragrant nutmegs grow

... inspired by a malaysiakini article titled 150-year-old village loses out to development ... it's also the story of David Brown

Gratefully he gave land to build a temple
For Chor Soo Kong, He who had appeared
In his dreams, having cured him of an ill;
So was raised Penang's Temple of Snakes

Now the Temple survives, barely, as snakes
Gave way to highways and the diesel trucks,
Big motorcycles of shattering decibels; their
Noxious fumes replace jasmine scented joss

He was a generous man, was David Brown,
Bestowing upon the people of the Island too
Land for games, frolics and evening strolls;
That’s the Padang in Jalan Dato Keramat

Now, unfinished laksa soup & lok-lok sauce
Poison the Padang with pollutants of spices,
Turning green lawns into dry brown patches
And his name passes unrecognised by most











Then there is Kampung Buah Pala, where
Gorgeous 20-metre high Myrista frangrans
Shade a 150-year old village in tranquillity
Where fragrant nutmegs would easily grow

A land bestowed by Brown to the Tamils
A gift for their toil, tears, sweat & hopes
For them to raise tambis and tangachis
Sweet youth with smiling dark doe eyes

Thaipusam with annual firewalks of piety
Deevapali where light triumphed over evil
Technicolour saris, luscious curries, apom’s
Not forgetting murukku's of myriad spices

All these marvels of Hindu Tamil culture
Will soon be gone, vanquished, stolen by
Avarice, an insult to David Brown’s legacy
An affront to lovers of heritage & decency

30 days

30 days has since gone by, sometime ago
Millions of new lives have since joined us
While millions more have perished too
30 days of cold, silent, lonely emptiness

30 days a moon would circle Earth once
Many a tide rises and ebbs, many a shore
Sees billion grains of golden sand shifted
30 days of pounding, roaring, nothingness

30 days are what a woman needs to renew
A cycle as mysterious as time, which Eve
First knew of God’s harsh reproof, akin to
30 days I've lived too in my own purgatory

30 days give a long time in hell to reflect
On what might have been if mere words
Could be edited prior to angry outpouring
30 days to wonder why it could not be so

30 days of painful withdrawal symptoms
That hurt so badly in more than 30 ways
Missing someone special, giving one only
30 days of escalating excruciating agony

30 days make 1 month of an annual dozen
Soon it will be 300, 3000 days before long
No, time doesn't care it was only yesterday
30 days sweet love existed in each month

Friendship

Friendship should be more
Than just a fragrant bloom
Glorious only for a while
Its fragrance soon a memory
And when the flower fades
Dispersing its fallen petals
Blown astray by nothing
More than a gentle breeze

A friendship should be
Like the sturdy Angsana
That lines Scotland Road
Deep rooted and steady
Holding fast its own self
Even in strongest storms
Anchored by affection
And deepest sincerity

I like ours to be like that
Yes, storms may break
The odd branch or two
But I know true bonds
Will hold our friendship
Steadfast as an Angsana
Allowing renewed growth
To continue in strength

Life & Friendship

Life is kinda farnee
Bright one day like
A veli veli shiny
Polished mirror
Tho’ tomollow may c
Greasy thumbprints
Onli to be wiped away
As useless graffiti

Life is only what
We make of it
Yar lor, seeing
Thro’, haiyo,
New challenges
New dee-lek-siun
Some lousy lows
But best with pals

Life can be veli cruel
Inexplicable moody
As a quirky tempest
Smashing to bits
Painstakingly erected
Foundations & truss
Of friendship, alas
No further use liao

Life is best when
You feel so sian one
A pengyu is by thee
Like a mountain
Unmoved by tsunami
Of vogue-ish whims
Then no nid 4 soli lor
Just nighty nite nite

Cancerous burning questions

Kong Fuzi, our great teacher, taught us to work through examples from the general to the specific, to promote enlightened learning.

Outside
The Garden
Of Eden, Abel the
Shepherd was loved by
God, who frowned upon
Poor Cain, tiller of the soil, just
An unwanted farmer, grower of veg
Was God a meat lover to treat
Those brothers differently
One as a favourite
And the other
Becoming a
Killer?

Oh, burning questions of
God’s unfairness gnaw
At my impious thoughts
I must kill the source of
My need to know why why
I turn to the Mahabharata

In
Gaza
Palestine,
Children of the
Holocaust turned Nazis
Subjected Arab women and
Kids to severest group punishment,
Ghetto-risation and humiliation
As their forefathers were in
Europe. The victims now
The killers, as if
YVWH himself
ordained

Oh, burning questions of
How such evil irony could be
Permitted by the Christian
World baffle me; angrily I tell
Myself to stop asking why why
So I turn to secular socialism

Here
In Malaysia
Land of lepak &
Lemak, a great evil
Perpetrated against a
Woman from a foreign land
May yet be unrequited, oh shame
To our country’s reputation
I cringe and pray that
Justice may yet
Prevail to set
Her soul
Free

Oh, burning questions of
Who the murderous killer
Could be; so callous, evil
Eat into my troubled heart
I know I mustn’t ask why why
I turn hopefully to due process

In
Fraser
Hill, I agonise
Over thousands
Of burning questions
That metamorphosed into
A cancerous tumour eating away
Relentlessly at my poor sanity
I have become an insomniac
Fiend with unbridled rage
Over inconsequential,
Mountains out of
Molehills

Oh, burning questions of
Frightening potential rivals
Of imagined origin and hue
Fighting for prohibited territory
I have to stop with why why
I turn hopefully to asceticism

Lao Tze, our great teacher, taught us to work through samples from the specific to the general, to promote lessons of experience.

The ultimate betrayal

The bulldozer smashed through
The lush verdant tropical forest
For a new highway straight thro’
Like an arrow unaffected by drift
And the victims, jungle denizens
Fell before the fierce onslaught

‘Twas the ultimate betrayal of nature

The driver saw one baby gibbon
Having survived a fallen tree
He raised his gun to mercy kill it
The towkay shouted, ‘waste not
A good bullet. It’ll die anyway.’
Shockingly callous, ruthless, yes

‘Twas the ultimate betrayal of compassion

They surrounded him, no chance
Stabbed a dozen times by daggers
Wielded by colleagues of the senate
He fell, but in his last few moments
Saw the one he loved, standing over
His bloodstained body, Et Tu Brutus

‘Twas the ultimate betrayal of friendship

She, the one from the Valley of Sorek
Loved by him with rich long black hair
Delilah enticed him into Dagon’s Temple
Loving her, Shimshon naively entered
To met her well-laid biblical bobby trap
She cackled proudly at her clever evil

‘Twas the ultimate betrayal of love

Clouds & Dreams

The brook tumbles down the hill
Along its rough bubbling course
Giving birth to seeds of a cloud
Wisps that rise to the heavens

One flows down, one floats up
Of identical stuff, but strangely
Never the twain shall meet, sad
But they are imitating, yes, life

Light first turns the clouds golden
But soon night casts a dark cloak
The cloud is still there, unseen
Till tomorrow comes, if it comes

Promises of things that could be
May be like a cloud, wispy stuff
Disappearing in night’s mantle
But can one wait till tomorrow?

I had put my hands on the cloud
Touching yet not able to hold it
Elusive like a soft dream slipping
Away with break of early dawn

I touch the brook’s cool water
And know it’s real, not a cloud
Yes, not a dream but cold reality
But alas, I love a sweet dream

Remembering Altantuyaa Shaariibuu

I am the Golden Beam*, from
The land of steppes, come to
The South Seas to Malaysia
called the Mountains of Asia

‘Twas no Shambula as promised
But of evil Gehanna, sent there
By C-4, 1.34 times more powerful
Than C6H2(NO2)3CH3, or TNT

In that shattering blast, in a tick
Golden Beam* I was no more
But thousands shattered shards
Of tears, blood, and deep regrets

Never to see my children again
Where I am I have met Erlig Qan
But I am not yet ready to submit
To his reign until I taste justice

Oh, if only I can quench my thirst
To drink sweet requital, my due
Against unimaginable evil cruelty
Just a wee sip from across the Styx

Will the Heavens sense my sorrow
My wail of uncompromising pain
At the loss of not just my young life
But treasured sight of loved ones

O, Sulde Tngri, Dayicin Tngri and
Gesar Khan, I offer thee, Holy Triad
Votive arca or juniper branches &
Berries, & kuji the sweetest incense

I pray, let they who judge be brave
Resolute and just, and not render
My tormented soul to wander in
Perpetual odyssey, sans retribution

I yearn to return home soon to rest
Among the elm-trees and willows
To hear the larks trill their sweet
Songs over the endless steppes

Please, let me gaze once more at the
White snow cap of Nayramadlin Orgil
Then I'll know I'm home once again
To close my tired eyes as Golden Beam*


* Altantuyaa = Golden Beam

Surrender

Out of the ether came a voice
No, no, not god – who’s he?
But a gentle sound, chiming
Softly like silvery moonbeams

I paused to catch its cheery notes
Too late, realising what I’ve done
Allowing myself to fall prey as
A net of sweetness fell over me

Trapped like a fly in a spider’s web
I struggled valiantly but in vain
Praying for my soul to be set free
But waiting for it to be consumed

By strange passion unexplained
& born in the ether, inexplicably
Wonderful yet inevitably doomed
I surrender to the Tao of its power

A Rotten Day

‘Twas really a rotten day
When all things went wrong
And you needed lots of hugs
A comforting word of love

Rank, name, serial number
The guard barked at me

So I trotted down to the bar
For some chilled chardonney
Something to warm you by
Till your blues were gone

Bartender said, we’re closed

Please come back tomorrow

Then you searched for a friend
To speak to a familiar face
Enjoy an amicable word or two
Perhaps a whiskey or beer

Sorry mate, not in right now
Am on a hot, really hot date

When you couldn't get someone
To share your day’s burden with
You turned to old faithful, your dog
Always waiting for you at home

But it’s full moon, he’s on the prowl
He has his own life too, grrrrowl

The Witch of Ijok

Burn her burn her, kill
The evil witch of ijok
Drown her in the pond
Of the village in Ijok
She’s evil, evil, evil
Responsible for all
Bad happenings, yes
The damn witch of Ijok

Sun rises in east, sets
In west, thro’ her spells
Tides and tidal waves
Are just her evil deeds
Bad news in Utusan?
Or the NST & The Star
Even in malaysiakini
May be attributed to her

Earth rotates anticlockwise
Is just work of her sorcery
But the Chilean says I see
Earth spinning clockwise
Precisely, she has placed
A hex on thee, all her fault
But her greatest sin was
To do the blasphemous

To question, blame, sneer
At the one & most holy Grail,
The one with the pious wail
Four face Almighty Brahma
Hi to my dear buddy Paul
Assalaimu Alaikum yaa akhi
wo men dou shi yi jia ren
demi bangsa, bangsa & bangsa

Magic of her laughter

Hahahahaha

Just laughter
Of happiness
Or at humour
Perhaps sheer relief?
Maybe even to
Disguise, yes,
Embarrassment
Even all of these

That’s what
Laughter is about
But somehow
Coming from her
It’s different
With added
Sapid spices
Intoxicatingly exotic

Crystal clear ripples
Enchanting peals
Of pentatonic
Wind chimes
Whispering
Seductively
Soothing storms
Into tranquillity

They bring
Penang Hill
Alive with music
(sorry Julie Andrews)
A rhapsody
More enticing than
Nepenthes-lined
Murmuring brooks

Resonations
Sweeter than
Gula melaka
As gentle as
Moonbeams
More charming
Than Penang
Nyonyas giggling

Just two letters
In plain 2-D
She unconsciously
Synergises and
Amplifies its magic
To the n-th power
Divine ambrosial
Tintinnabulation

I lay my head down
On the soft dreamy H
And pull up a cool
Silken blanket of A’s
Wrapped up totally
In their warmth
I dream of her
Cascading sweet laughter

Hahahahaha

Ijok - where bloggers were at sea?

I sail into a storm
Where the Ijok sea
In anger waxes
Tempestuously
Roiling
Raging
Roaring
A vortex of avarice

‘Tis a sea swarming
With predators in
Chauffeured Mercedes
Baring beguiling
Smiling
Sinister
Sharp
Baleful razor teeth

Another ship appears
On the evening horizon
And soon draws near
There on the deck
She
Smiles
Sweetly
I imagine to me

While the predators
Lull, lure and lie
Without conscience
To the prey, ikan bilis
Brown
Black
Buff
All victims of deceit

I shout out to her
Watch out for the
Pelagic candirú
Lampreys of votes
She
Signals
Silently
All lies have been posted

Soon one predator remains
Having vanquished the other
Leaving whitebaits to swim
Around 200 Janome's, so
Eighty-%
Equivocating
Employment-deficient
Sweethearts exit Ijok

And our two ships pass
Each other as night casts
A dark curtain over us
I realise sadly she’s
Gone
Godspeed
Goodbye
Will it be forever?

What's in a name?

"What's in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other word would smell as sweet."

- William Shakespeare - Romeo and Juliet (II, ii, 1-2)

What’s in a name?

A rose is still … but alas,
I’m not one, but a thorn
Prickly or some'd say
Just a damn prick ;-)

A prickly thorn?

Protect the fragile rose
Or, just to prick
Bubbles of euphoria
POP! Who’s that prick?

Who art thou?

Maybe a loose cannon
Or a silly Don Quixote
Tilting at spinning icons
Or icon who spins

Out, damn'd KTemoc! out, I say!

I cringe, it’s an angry world
In Ijok, and like a Dalmatian
Left, no longer barking
At dark shadows, meow!

Ijok - Of, For, & By The Fairest

I was Darth Vader yesterday
But now I am Luke Skywalker
Tho’ tomorrow, you’ll see me
As I ought to be, the Emperor

Activist in a forgotten history
Then Minister of Parachuting
Yes, I can metamaphose easily
From black, white to anything

Catch me if you can, I am the
Entertainer of the salacious,
Then like a flash of lightning
Becoming Mufti of all pious

My syrupy honey tongue, ten
Metres long – all the better
To catch you common lalat’s
With words sweet and tender

Of many hue, size and shape
Yes, I am indeed a chameleon
Breaking bread with an Islamist
Or bosom buddy of a neocon

Once I wallowed in a cesspool
'ere I was driven out by a tiger
Now I am your white Paladin
Not many can detect my odour

Like a mischievous Eris I flung
Into the anagrammatic KOJI
A Mongolian apple of discord
Which says Altan .. Kallisti

A word meaning ‘to the fairest’
Why, that’s me, aku, I, wah
Sweet words, all ye lemmings,
For your Most Majesty, Moi

Note: lalat = Malay for houseflies

Magic of the 100th name of God

Once
I had a hundred names
with only 99 known.
Trust Isis and her wiles,
yes, a woman
and a lovely one too,
to pry the 100th out of me.
Devious!

Amazed!
I now have a new one but
minus an 'L' as if that
would mean someone else,
like Odin, Manitou, Zeus,
rather than ole me, you
know who, don't you?
Moi

Hey
I call out to them, they
in the red and blue corners.
The names' the same, it's all mine
of course, whose did you think?
Butt out, sneered one;
Yes, the other concurred;
Scat!

Huh?
But they're all mine, those
names you're fighting over.
So what, did you patent them
like mapped gerome of langsat
and petai for exclusive use?
No? Then, buzz off!
Goodbye

But
Why fight over my names
when I am the same Bloke
for all of you guys and gals?
Hellooooo, didn't we say
to butt out of our turf wars,
on exclusive use of THE name.
Understand?

Isis!
Only she knew my 100th name
that bestows the most powerful
magic on those who know.
She was privy to my secret (100th)
name called Compassion, sometimes
known as, would you believe,
Love!

Related - Malaysiakini letters:
(1) Others using ‘Allah’ will confuse Muslims
(2) Allah, Tuhan, Lord and God