Tuesday, December 31, 2013

A Sentence for December - After Jean-Jacques Rousseau

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

Friday, November 29, 2013

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

Tuesday, October 29, 2013

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.

Thursday, September 19, 2013

Sunday, September 1, 2013

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.

Friday, August 23, 2013

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.

Thursday, June 27, 2013

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

Monday, May 20, 2013

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

Saturday, May 11, 2013

An old poem for Today

Time hunter is but a merciless lover

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

He swallowed, in time,
the expired body


Saturday, May 4, 2013

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

Sunday, April 28, 2013

Spring doesn't forget Malaysians!





Monday, April 22, 2013

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.

Sunday, April 14, 2013

Thursday, April 11, 2013

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.

Thursday, March 21, 2013

Friday, March 1, 2013

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.

Sunday, February 24, 2013

Poem for a rainy day - Electra!

She killed him.
You killed her.
Who’s to kill you?
Oh! Electra.
Love (for your mother) will.

Friday, February 22, 2013

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.)


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

Wednesday, February 20, 2013

Medusa is blind.

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

Tuesday, January 1, 2013

Poem for January - A poetess was born.




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