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MY POEMS (SECTION ONE)
AN ANGEL
the struggle next door
storms and upturns her world.
the cruel blows and weak pleadings
of the wayward son and his mom
cut deep into her heart.
this little life episode she wishes
is just a dream, a bad dream that
she usually forgets after a few days.
but now the dying mother, her
friend next door, keeps appearing in her
imaginations pushing her to that section
of her life where she keeps between
herself and the almighty.
the sweet grape juice that tastes
so bitter this morning.
as she washes her own little
cute white thing in the bathtub
she prays that she would be able
bring out the angel in the child;
an angel that would throw a dime to the
beggar in the street and fill up
the days of those in the autumn of their lives with joyful notes -
like the beautiful colourful leaves
of the season that falls in so many
ways to entertain us.
SECRET LOVE
the longing to
look straight into
those eyes crashed
by a fear, a shyness
of a budding emotion
of teenage years.
yet in the night,
that warmth of
secret love
enshrouded
me, the imagined
security made up
to withstand
the lonely
desperation that
stormed my heart
through the years.
ambitions stole
the time and light
out of this secret passion
now only remembered in verses.
HAIKU
canopy
the light
dances with leaves
OMNIPRESENCE
our sensitive ancestors found
omnipresence in every hole they dug
and every nook and corner;
the padi field, river, the sea,
the kitchen, the mountains
and fashioned gods for their prayers.
the gods that brought in the crops,
the fish, looked after the death..
if only they could speak,
would they be talking in
similar tongues and laughing over our
ignorance or praising us at our creativity
in fashioning so many images
of him all over?
the misunderstandings men have been
entangled in this omnipresence that could
only be the Almighty...
the Almighty playing a puzzle game
forcing us to use our brain to get to him.
Yes..."I am Everywhere."
HAIKU QUEST
little things
left outside life circles
turn out to be the cakes
on this haiku table.
my mind darts from
one angle to the other
seeking the exquisite dish and lines
to reward the gem of each moment.
the birds which sing all these years
in my garden have become meditation points
and special mediums peeping into future.
and the rainbow at the waterfall that glorifies her silky tresses a sultry dream
crushing one into the mini-waterfall swivelling into her cleavage;
the frogs on the lily pads models for novice monks trying out zero thoughts.
with a pen and a pad, i squeeze
the whole world into my favourite three liners
DRUNKEN LINES
this country once passions reigned
barbarians and moralists
galloped into the fray.
its multi-faceted poets'
drunken lines echo
heartfelt cries of builders
who carried slabs up mountains,
crafty empress tying ropes
round people's bellies to stifle revolts,
and palace butchers who
devoured manhood
for the king's womenfolks,
female infants' unkind fate with mother's towels.
yet this record it shows
with pride of birth numbers.
the verses of drunken poets
that lent a paradise for
a moment's escape from these dungeons of madness
the gifts of Li Bai, Su Tong Po...
THE ENEMY I OVERCOME
all over i run
looking for my god
to explain to me
all this thing about soul;
this million-year question
we each carry
with us to our death,
bequeathing similar puzzle
to our children,
the only question that
we share common ground
with our stone-age ancestors.
to live for all these years
and getting to know
that the most puzzling
thing in the world is
here just right in me!
i run to the east
i run to the west
i hop to the north
i hop to the south
i read the buddha's works
i delve into the hindu vedas,
bagavad gita,
the bible and the koran.
my body aches, my mind boggled
the five senses numbed
yet still ignorant of this
tea-in-cup theory propounded.
this prison that each of us
is trapped; is it just the body or
another dimension
seeking freedom?
seeking freedom..........
how i am grateful
that at least at this,
i share common thought
with buddha before
he left his palace to
seek for truth.
truth i still seek..
all that light in
the tunnel theory
getting me quite
fearful and excited..
here lies the enemy
i finally overcome
for eternal freedom,
my epitaph.
PIRATES KILLING IN THE STREET
dreams made of talents and sweat
and nightly toils; dreams to beautify, enrich and upgrade The world
snatched away mercilessly leaving
broken hearts, sleepless nights
accompanied by streams of tears
among the poets, the Crooners,
the writers, film producers,
Actors....enslaved by their own giftedness.
in the backstreets of Asia, open markets of China, Africa, Latin America, you see familiar names on boxes, books where money floods; fluid cash from great talents
who live only to see modern pirates squeeze every cent out of their sweats,
the merchandise reaping billions for
clandestine merchants living behind monumental abodes.
Pirates all over the world massacreing artists and poets.
OF EMPERORS, CONCUBINES AND EUNUCHS
A thirst, a hunger culminating in a gloom
Pervaded every palace in dynastic China -
From Xian to Luoyang, from Nanking to Beijing, young men deprived of their virility and voluptuous beauties their love
spun and hid their sorrowful tales.
Throw all these desperados an all powerful emperor and he became a natural object of contempt.
A persistent jealousy suppressed
Kept gnawing at the hearts of the young men
Who saw him as having an all-important
Faculty which had been taken away from them;
And from the concubines who saw him only as an illusive object amidst the thousands of Alexis vying for his attention, their hearts
Naturally going back to the sweethearts
They had left behind in homeland.
All these unsatiated desires, miseries and
discontents painted that unhealthy gloom looming over a palace where insecurity, power struggles and bids for favours were
intense.
Almost all lived a self-serving double life.
The swords fell on those who failed to negotiate that secured path for the two conflicting selves.
NICKNAMES
nicknames are thrown
around in my family;
our own terms of endearment
word could not describe.
it is that closeness
towards each other
through words that evoke
a special experience
with a brother or sister
or just a plain description of
his uniqueness.
a brother is called La Ting
because of his bald head when a
baby.
eldest brother is labelled Ming
instead of his real name Thai
because of his intelligence
when a child.
Ming means clear-minded.
Another is called Lung
instead of Ing because of his
Chinese horoscope sign dragon
which in Mandarin is Lung.
mom's favourite animal sign
is dragon so the name sticks.
youngest brother is Bee,
my own spontaneous invention
when I saw the cute little child
in mom's hands many years back.
I am so glad and proud
that this is the only creation
in my life that has been used
for so long and that it
has surprisingly given
brother all the good luck;
he turns out to be a bank's manager.
he should have me to thank
for all his fortune.
another brother is called Chi
instead of his real name Kui.
i could not fathom the
reason for this and wonder
which brother first started
calling him that.
eldest sister is Pui
instead of Hua because
of her plumbness when a baby.
and oh dear, we are naughty
when it comes to our neighbours.
many of them have secret nicknames
coined from the way they
talk, walk, and even look
and we really hope they would
never ever find out these names.
Our family just bubble in
our neighbourhood because of
our incessant inner creative jest
to coin all those secret words.
perhaps, we are nicknamed too
which we never
bother about because
we know nicknames are
given out of endearment.
at least, that is the case with us.
STRAITS OF MALACCA
straits of malacca,
the treacherous divider
between Malaysia, Sumatra.
a line between poverty, wealth.
a storm beats into the sea tonight,
lightning outlines a motorboat
negotiating its way
through the waves furious
as if angry at trespassers.
the straits that has
witnessed great volumes
of sunken treasures,
cruelest of pirates,
greediest of colonisers,
human traffickers
and the profitable
spice trade
tonight witnesses
fate of a different kind;
poverty striken
sumatrans in their bid
to come to Malaysian shores.
The human traffickers
in their anxiety to
run off from marine cops,
push them off
pointing to Malaysian shore
still a few kilometres away.
their cries are muffled
by the waves and the old engines of the
motorboat which considers
its mission accomplished this time;
yes, arrival at Malaysian shore
albeit in waves few kilometres off.
The sorrow of the sumatrans
could only be seen in their
scowled faces as their corpses
float down the straits, some
lost, some fished up.
Like the waves of the straits
that continue pounding the shores,
this illegal trafficking continues
punctuated by such heartstirring
happening perhaps to remind us
how lucky most of us are.
