Retro-Introspection

Voices from the past are no more here
To remind and guide me as before
To speak and laugh together as before
Those people, whom I cherished dearly
Are, spiritually entombed,
In this ever flowing universe.
However, their energized words ever consciously
Replaying in my conscience
Stirring the memories from somewhere
To enliven the hope, which seemingly fades.
Huddled between many thoughts
Suddenly I have a remorseful feeling
Many have existed but unto ashes have gone invisible
My turn too shall come, sooner, maybe later.
This mystery of birth and death keep revolving within me
In loneliness it increases in speed
I wonder what this is all about
From unborn we all are born,
To be reborn again unto another plane
Only this time the transition,
Death we call it with sad intonation.

A passing that takes no turn,
Eternity locks this mystery
Of faces vanished in her timeless sojourn.


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Dark Paint

Night still speaks louder in darkness

Though spoiled by the neon

The silence that dawn as the night slips deeper

Knocked my heart open for a conscious stay.

I stand on my porch staring at the dotted sky

Flashes of asteroids travel speedily from one star to another

My heart captured that scene of bliss

What indeed is the mystery the space above speaks?

I may not understand the marvel of this creation

Yet, my feeling carries the strangest phenomenon

Subtly beyond the reach of thoughts

And, I know the night is not just a moment.

It is but

The master of my sleepless existence

And a painting brilliant in the absence of day.

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Wickedness

Sloughing their characters
With winning frequency
At every circumstances
They deceive me repeatedly.
They exuviate wickedness at every ticking second
In smiles and care, they show concern
Molten wickedness dissipates unto every capillary
I am hurt repeatedly.
In strangeness, I sit alone facing my shadow
Wonders upon wonders began to unveil in transparent layers
And, as each veil evaporates, I am seeing less human.

Why?

We are subtly the same with gross differences
But, some wearing wickedness 24 hours a day
Yet skillfully concealing the truest of the meanest self
With words and smiles made to glitter.

Why?

I may not be in full bloom of perfection
Yet wickedness is a strange world
A little anger
A little jealousy
A little hate
I may entertain
Still all are too painful to bear,
And fearful too,
Of the retribution to come.

But, wickedness?
Unbearably devilish

Oh Lord
Spare me from this.


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God?

Pedantic brains struggle

To express the inexpressibility

Trans-linguistically enshrined.

Donkeys laugh across the meadow

Cows lying lazily under the trees

Trees gaily gaze the inexpressible expression,

Who cares about what is that?

For animals and trees are better informed

And, they experience rather than

Expressing the trans-linguistic factor,

But, we go on

In pages, we confined our theories, assuming,

The trans-linguistic, expressed.

Our conceptions are

Like shadowy illusions

Comprehends not the greatest illusionist,

Eternally the magnificent.

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Modernity

Taciturnly seeping between generations

Leaving no gap at each transition

Time changes everything.

As time prepares each for their evolution

Influencing the minds of every generation

New minds come forth proclaiming

‘This is a new world, this is modernity’.

Modernity, is

The facade of the viewer

At each pause they view new

And, ensuant modernity.

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Pengkalan Hulu

THERE ARE PLACES I REMEMBER....AND THIS IS ONE OF IT....PENGKALAN HULU

Success

Being by Fontainebleau forest

Exposed to shade and impressive lights

A Monet nor Renoir makes not.

Inborn essence

Coupled with inquisitive mind

Impressions of success are made of.

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Rottenness

Impignorating humaneness
For selfishness
Many breathe unaware
Of the ephemeral.

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Pen

A pen,

is not just a pen.

When in love
It liquefies petals of rose
Regurgitating words of a lover.

In prayer
It succumbs lovingly
With divine sweetness.

When in power
Many signatures
It carries to greater heights
With the twist of wrist

In expression
Invisible thoughts
Gain forms.

In revolution
It’s a potential liquidator!

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She is not just a tree…....

Taman Tasik, Pengkalan Hulu, Perak

Twenty-five years ago, I spent most of my days and nights under this tree, contemplating, weighing and arguing on various mysteries of life. I poured all my pains, grudges, grievances, hatred, love, appreciation, anger, depression, frustration, tolerance, intolerance, loss, gain, anticipations, and my tears on her roots. She bore all with patience and grew steadily without least compulsion. That is her beauty, an embodiment of nature. She listened to my woeful and cheerful stories. She helped me to relieve the bottled up emotions and freed me from the burdening suppression. She listened and listened without a sign of boredom, while graciously danced to the wind, consciously soothed the birds and unrelentingly kissed the atmosphere. I know she is no ordinary tree. I believe she is full of energy and vibration of healing capacity. I do not know how old is she, but I know she is many years older than I am, and wiser too.

Today I had the opportunity to step on the same soil again, and I went looking for her. She was there, as usual playful in her own way. Down deep, I knew that she was aware of my presence there. Though she did not extend her physical form to welcome me, the vibes she exuded was more than I could take. I stood near her, thanking her for the silent support, the time spent and for enduring my monotonous monologues, which later with her silent participation I deciphered as interactive dialogues between mind and nature. She is still the same, not much changes though, but this time around, the bench is empty with no one sharing their lives with her.

Suddenly, strange wishes seeped into my mind. I wish I were the earth that sustains her ever and the water that reflects her always and I wish I were the bird that perched on one of her many branches. I wish I were the sun that baths her with supreme light, I wish I were the wind that she always dances to.

Seconds passed by ticking into minutes. It is time for me to leave. I bowed to her within my mind, and I thanked her for all the good things shared and most of all for tolerating my non-stop grunts. Hope to see her soon and share many good things that happened to me in the last 25 years.

Thank you.

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We are ancient, aren’t we?

We are ancient, aren’t we?

Each strand of modernism

Imbued with contemporary thoughts

Uproot us, the ancient people

From the layers of the ancient.

We are ancient, aren’t we?

The ancients keep us going

Yet we feel we are ever new

Breaking the borders of civilization

Experiencing contemporaneity.

We are never new,

The ever ancient wind

The ever ancient space

The ever ancient fire

The ever ancient earth

The ever ancient water

Sustain us ever.

And ancient they are,

So we must too.

Ancient we are, we will always be

Warped ideas weave the mind

In experiential contemporaneity we dissappear

Though, we are only anciently modernistic.

As my barefoot touches the earth

In nudity, I let my body courts the wind

And the sun warms my presence

After the early morning rain.

And, the spatial awareness

Tells me that I am ever ancient

A traveler from the past.

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DARFUR GENOCIDE SONG FORDARFUR

Suicide

Suicide is not just about death
Suicide is not just about depressive silence
Suicide is about the dead of the society
Suicide is about the ignoring silence of the masses.
Suicidal, a feeling beyond words
Suicidal, a feeling beyond expression
Suicidal, is synonymous not to death
Suicidal, a feeling, is not far from us.

Dead society with rocky feelings
Ignores the plea set forth by bodily language
Each of us busily busy with our own tasks
Time we have, but not the mind and heart to serve.
For a movie we take the depressed to relieve their stress
For a meal we take the suicidal to kill the seed suicidal
We enjoy the movie, we delightfully swallow the meal
We ‘presume’ our friends too shared the same feelings.

Deep down the deadly stalker lies in abeyance
Waiting to pounce by ounce, the victim remains haplessly helpless
Gnawing deep unto the conscience, into the being it merges
Dead fears them no more, only the moment waits to trigger the END.
We, the proud boastful members of the so-called modern societies
Skeptically ignore the pleas and cries of the few distressed souls
Assuming all is right because the victims look hale external
We let their inner turmoil roots deeper and deeper.

Their inner chattering continues
Contours of their rants appear on the face
The pricks of desperation surround their aura
Yet, we are busy planning the trivial of our lives.
Suicide is not just about death
Suicide is not just about depressive silence
Suicide is about the dead of the society
Suicide is about the ignoring silence of the masses,

Suicide is about our selfishness.


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Dream

The wind seeps
The water blows
The fire hardens
The earth liquefies.
Noon without sun
And night without moon
Sparkling stars I see at noon
Moody sun paints the night dark.
Man talking rubbish as hell
Woman ringing gossips like bell
Without a seat, I am still able to sit
Without food, I am still able to eat
Wonder-filled so wonderful
I began to ask, am I a fool?

Suddenly I am alarmed
The alarm ringing sharp at 10:00am
I remember I set it at 7:00am
Oh…no…the clock overslept.

I am dead
My punch card will show red.

Huh.....I am awakened again before the dreadful
Thank God...it is all but a dreamy track.

I packed myself with some dressing
Gently opened the door
Quite relaxed, I walked to my car
And…broommed to work.

In 5 minutes I am there at my office gate
The gate closed and I wondered, why?
The guard came and I asked, why closed?
The guard said, ‘This is Inception. It is now 6 pm’
I missed the day’s work

The alarm rang once again
I am alarmed again, once again
It is 7:00 am.

Time to get ready
Hope this too is not a dream.


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