20131212

To Erthe

A promise was made here
to a man thousands miles yonder
my monotonous ode to him
goes unsung in the wind

A handful of hopes is hard to cope
A brimming love fits like a glove
Head and heart finally concurred
These hands shall eventually join

I chose him, for the same reason
Luna chooses Erthe, and stays
O thee, my centre of gravity
A Divine decreed, oh! what a wonder!
Accept me in darkness, see me clearer
I shall be around, till heaven asunder.

...................................................

My nerves are all jittery
My eyes are watery
Oh! Am I crying or indeed laughing
Is this not what I've been wanting




20130908

Rabu Lalu

telah berlaku, maksudku berlalu
sejak hari itu, hari Rabu, 
bukan! ianya Sabtu.

satu persatu
dalam kiraan beribu
abjad-abjad waktu

aku tidak lagi di situ
cerita baharu, baru! 
ejaan baru untuk baharu itu baru.
oh, selingan di situ.

iya! seperti kata ibuku
masin mulut mu
garam suapan ku
kini akan berlalu
maksudku berlaku!




20121028

Perempuan Gila Masa Kini

Aku baca kembali bicara semalam pada nada yang beza
Lama sudah aku tidak menulis dengan rima yang jujur dari dada
Bahasa ibunda, biasa tapi mesra.

Orang bilang menulis rima bahasa
mudah, a, a, a, a, a, rimanya akan ada
ah mana sama, yang bermakna dan yang tiada
kan makna puisi itu pada pembaca bukan penulisnya.

Ini pula bukan puisi, bukan juga hanya rima
Ya, suka itu pada rima, seperti sukanya aku pada rupa kamu
tapi cinta hadir pada cerita, seperti cintanya aku pada jiwa kamu
Cerita berbeza, perempuan gila yang sama, memang selalu begitu
Tenggelam timbul, kadang lantang, kadang malu
Entah apa yang dia mahu.

Sukar sebenarnya menjadi perempuan dewasa
Harus lembut bagai tari jangan sampai dihenyak kepala di kaki
Harus indah pada rupa jangan pula itu sahaja yang ada, bahasa entah ke mana
Harus berilmu bagai tok guru baharu layak menjadi ibu, tapi terlebih tahu dibenci selalu
Harus mahir dapur, tahu mengampai jemur, tapi hebat bertukang tak siapa julang.
Harus begitu harus begini,
Dalam hatinya mahu jadi itu mahu jadi ini.
Mana tidak gila, perempuan masa kini?





20120409

A Straw Poem

In my spare times, I used to draw
My favorite would always be portraiture
Of faces I wish to remember
of teachers, friends and lovers.

In my busy times, I would still draw.

But lately...
whenever I put my pencil to paper
It turns into a straw
and the paper mellow to water
White and pure than never.
The more I gaze into it, the clearer is the color
It doesn’t ripple but begins to sparkle.

And, instead of me sucking for a drink
The water seems to expand at the brink
Rising like tides in the evening of the tsunami
Swallowing me into, instead of just water, now a sea
With my tongue and my hand
I taste the salt and the sand
Though my feet, I don’t know where they land.
I know it’s real. It is real.

And, the ocean breathes life to a figure
Who wears a face I used to draw
How I remember every curve and feature
Softer than flower, Stronger than power
Afar like history, Intimate like memory.

All at once, tears dance in the pool of my eyes
like skaters skidding at the ice rink,
instead of falling, I wink.
In a blink, it all gets to normal
I rub my hands against each other trying to unfeel the sand
I gaze to once water, now a paper
It is blank, perhaps forever.

20111227

. .... ...

when things get in our way
and the lark refuses to stay
or the word is too hard to say..
remember today,
remember today,
remember today.

20111025

Gaddarave

a hidden grave will hide your body
maybe someday they'll erase your story
weapon and wealth, the luxurious property
will no longer keep you company
the wounded hearts will move eventually
their tears will seep through the dry soil of the country
the mourners will forget their condolence and sympathy

but the earth, the unknown cemetery
where you lie in mystery
won't forbid the revelation of reality

O' Qaddafi
who knows the matter of your soul
in front of The Almighty...

20111018

Eucalyptus; A ghost.

In the deep dark of the dead dawn
A forest of grief has grown
Rest in rage, a corpse of Eucalyptus
slow dancing in a hiatus

The moon up so high in the sky
hides his eyes away
behind lashes of a shameful decay
refuses to see how her body sways
The riot rhythmic moves of her stained feet
mopping the floor of the rooted, tangled deceit
the dusty ashes of her lost sanity appeals for a fleet

I remember how she opens her eyes when she cries
Trying to roll back the tears forming a lake beneath her bosoms
Her white porcelain skin benumbed by the gloom of doom
Her torn red frolic dress falls revealing her sanctum;
a heart as hollow as a phantom

I remember her crooked brown brows
as her emotion frowns,
with arms hugging her disowned broken boughs
thick black blood runs from her mind to her chin
and she grins as she mouths the word 'sin'.

She dances to direction of the ocean
of tears and blood of the ancient mourners
She sinks deeper as she cries louder
but nobody hears her, not anymore
to the world, she has long disappeared.


and the water ripples in the vast subconsciousness of the sea as she sinks, in silence.


::I wish not to see her again.::

20110916

The Devil Prays Tonight

Life!
What’s the matter with you?
Sending me angels, with wings as wide as the sky
with hands as soft as petals, holding me as if I could fly.

Stop mocking me!
Yes! Indeed, I’m the wounded devil
broken head, bloated heart
ankles- hurt, hands- anchored.
But I was a devil who did no evil
except believing in something;
something quite medieval
that came in a shape of double ovals
skewed to the middle
looking so royal acting so loyal
keeping me moving in the spiral
of a never ending ritual.

of course I couldn’t spell the word
I'm not a coward,
I've tried before
it took so much of me that even if I could
I know that I would, not.

and please, I beg of you
stop lending me your sorrow
I would prefer to borrow a burrow
where I can hide my soul
from all the ghosts and ghouls
haunting me in every tomorrow
and bury my worries
that would grow memories
as sweet as cherries

Life, if only, for tonight
You could tell the angels to stay
for maybe tomorrow,
when the cherries ripe and the sun’s bright
the soul could be restored to the devil’s right
mind, not hands, again.



20110813

ghost

at the instance the words hit the ground
is when I realise how I regret standing up...

in front of you

and remain invisible.