A Sentence for December - After Jean-Jacques Rousseau

We do not know what our institution permits us to be.

Poem for November - No Word For Goodbye

The life of a debarked dog:
A suburban hermit - the crazy bitch
a nickname given by the neighbors
yelling at her disinfected companion
creature on wallpaper
decorative, omnipresent and void
the last messenger of Nature
in a modern household
no trespassing, private property
safeguarded by the Far West spirit
vitamins, canned food, animal salon, toy bone
cable TV network, night by night
side by side, man's best friend
from sofa to bed
in silent mode


The scenario of a weekend drive:
dressed-up urbanites
sun glasses and pop diva playlist 
agitated furry little thing at the backseat
like some restless yet belted kids
never going any further to answer
the call of the wild, while the sound system
hits the high notes, the couple's reflection
magnified in the side mirror glasses
polished, well-informed and moralist
the credit of the middle class
the reign of the barren highways
the end of the naked gaze
which box-office?
which clearance sale?
which western restaurant?
Sorry, no pets allowed


The road of the oppressed:
The Penan and their lawyer traveled
in the back-to-the-future machine
landing at the young Capital
our fellow bumiputra and bumiputeri
compromised by home-made palm oil diet
instant noodle and biscuit of same intensity
the once athletic bodies doubled in volume
strangers in their half blood's house
a soundproofing man-made jungle
no voice, no truth, no justice
the hunter gatherers
never lost in the rainforest,
now helpless in Putrajaya


A night in November,
the Penan and the generation to come
met at the Chinese Assembly Hall in Kuala Lumpur
a group of fight-for-justice activists, feminists, socialists
on duty journalists and photojournalists
how to explain to a calculated mind?
a community functioning on molong
never take more than you need
how to convince a sexist mind?
a relationship long before
the matriarchal or the patriarchal model
how to convince an arrogant mind?
a people live like the animal
feed on the animal
respect the animal
yet remains human

no thank you
no thief
no goodbye

Poem for October - Orang Perak itu bukan Melayu.

The Perak man and the Perak woman
both died in the cave.
Being the first to reach Death
makes them the memorable one.
Yet the infinity is written by
Milky Ways of inhumanities.
Why should you, the unsung painter,
be intimidated by the Puteri and the Putera?
The earth will reclaim its right of amnesia.
And any dust shall surrender.
But I shall always remember:
the Perak man and the Perak woman
were once not Malay.

中秋節快樂 Happy Full Moon Festival!

A poem for September - To the birth of a nation - Malaysia

A mango is nothing like a durian.
It doesn't fall when it is ripe unless it is rotten.
You have to go catch the fruit
while it is near the bees, the birds and the sky.
A mango is sweet and sour, and smells first love.

A mango is nothing like a durian.
It doesn't divide the people into love and hatred.
A mango is not a king nor a queen.
A mango is as common as you and me.
Every garden has its own guardian - a mango tree.
Who's yours, Malaysia?

A country doesn't fall when it is ripe
unless it chops off all the mango trees.

A poem for August - The Kangaroo Correspondence

The  kangaroo correspondence
between you and me should continue
and continue endlessly, until the mail box of our memory
is running out of capacity, then we will move from
Australia to a zoo in Japan, two kangaroos in a summer night
where the sun shines at night, you and me
should talk and talk endlessly, until the winter comes
and goes, and the summer comes again.

I shall sew two more pockets because the only one
I have is full of your letters, which I call
the kangaroo correspondence
They are dreams without ending
drowned in coffee and beer
aroused in typhoon and monsoon.

Later, we take the second lane
on the left of Sokyusha, and separate
at the junction in front of the zoo in Shinjuku
I go back to my cage, turn on my computer
and start writing our kangaroo correspondence.

An early poem for July and late June - Tableau of Humiliation

I have put a curse

on you, I know I shouldn't

but I still do, a curse

a black hole of no return

Let's fall together, beginners

I have painted a tableau

of humiliation and a few drawings of

sadness, black lines mark the paper white

erase them if you can

I have put a curse on you,

before I forget and walk again. 

You, stranger of justice and mercy

lies will be your epitaph,

my curse, little yellow flowers

on the hill, reminding you

light has long abandoned you

Poem for May - No Ordinary Malay

Adam left Eve, the snake
and the rest of the apple
Adam left his Eden
to join the people
in their half abandoned garden
The people welcome him,
and will love him.

Adam left the impasse, to embrace
a new journey, Adam left his Eden
voluntarily, to join the people
in their halfway walk
The people walk by him,
and will never leave him.

Adam Adli is no ordinary
Malay.

An old poem for Today

Time hunter is but a merciless lover

Freeze!
She runs, he fires,
the time bleeds
to death, no heaven,
no hell, shall come
to claim the frozen
being,

He swallowed, in time,
the expired body


2008

Ini kalilah!

It is our human right to dream of something better. And this is the time for a change.

Kill the beast.
Kill the noisy, arrogant and clownish beast
With firecracker!
With light! 
With mirror!
We all know your clumsy tricks.

Future Voter v.s. MCA

Kopitiam v.s. Police Station

New v.s. Old

Spring doesn't forget Malaysians!

冬雪三尺

朋友說紐約的花都盛開了。
是的，我在紐約時報上看見
那裡的女人与郁金香
和春天爭艷。
她們不怕冷。

而我們這裡
失序的季節，是誰
一手遮天？
落葉無聲墜下，
明福之冤深冬雪三尺
這裡常年帶孝的女人
不再照鏡，因為
春天不來。

春天還沒來。

Poem for Monday - Open, O Sesame.

Once a passionate and devoted collector of art

Opened his cave of treasure to Ali Baba

Choose anything you fancy.

Pick one, insists the self-taught connoisseur.

Ali Baba was caught in a sudden dilemma,

for he preferred gold than any art form of make-believe.

He then pointed at a bag of gold coins.

How about this?

It is the best trompe l'oeil in my collection, laughs the collector.

It cost me exactly the same amount of gold coins painted on the canvas.

The collector’s revelation only confirmed Ali Baba one thought:

He has entered the wrong cave.

Or maybe the cave was a flawless facade by a Sunday painter.

Open, O Sesame.

Only the disciples of Magritte knows the trick of the spectacle.

Sculptures

Poem for April Fool - Air Art Championship

By chance, I have learned about the Air Guitar Championship
where the rocker's tailored instrument entertained the agitated crowd.
The make-believe art has had a long history.
Wait a minute, I hear hoorays from the Air Art Championship.
It must be the Plato's cave which is hosting a party for our contemporaries.

The Public Gathering

Poem for March - Ready To Die

Keep the animal in a tiny space

Where to get dirty and fatted

For one more night

Feed it again and again

Though it is far from being starving

Much to your surprise,

Its throat can swallow deeper

Its stomach can expand further

Its eyes can open wider

For the body has no organ

The truth is:

 Nobody is ready to die.

Poem for a rainy day - Electra!

Electra!

She killed him.

You killed her.

Who’s to kill you?

Oh! Electra.

Love (for your mother) will.

Poem for February - Flower in the pigsty

Pig is a profane animal, so is woman.

Both bath in the muddy pond.

The temple is pure.

The lord is mighty.

The keeper whistles:

It is time to say your prayer.

The pig squeals, so does the woman.

Both worship in the dirty pigsty.

Feed a pig with greasy leftovers.

Dress a woman with thorny flowers.

They will be dancing happily.

The hair grows, so does the flower in the pigsty.

A womb carries no prophet but babi*.

(Yet, it used to be your little room for prayer.)

豬圈里的花
豬是一種褻瀆的動物，女人也是。
雙方在滿是泥濘的​​池塘里洗澡。

神殿多純潔。
造物者多強大。
門將吹起口哨：
你禱告的時間到了。
豬開始尖叫，女人也是。
雙方在骯髒的豬圈裡朝拜。
用油膩的剩飯剩菜餵養一隻豬。
用棘手的鮮花為一個女人打扮。
他們將愉快地跳起舞。
頭髮長着，豬圈裡的花也是。
子宮里沒有懷着先知，只有豬。
（而它曾經是你小小的祈禱室。）

*Babi is pig in Malay. The word is often used as a derogatory and racist remark toward Chinese in Malaysia.

Medusa is blind.

The hair grows, so do the flowers in the pigsty.

Poem for January - A poetess was born.

我是女人，
我將不是詩人，
如果詩的土地由
男人來守。
我是詩人，
我將不是女人，
如果女人的世界由
男人來主。

要是女人，
要是詩人，
在被守的國度，
要瞞天過海,
在陰道進退之間，
要把女詩人生出來,

因為女人的結合體，
是詩。

I am a woman,
I will not be a poet,
If the land of poetry 
is watched over by man.
I am a poet,
I will not be a woman,
If the women's world
is dictated by man.

Ought to be a woman， 
Ought to be a poet,
Ought to cross the borderlines
of the fortified kingdom. 
Ought to give birth a poetess
In the back and forth between the *vagina.

Because the composition of a woman, 
Is poetry.

*Tao of Yin