The Muruku Murmurations

This is a collaboration piece written by myself and the talented Amanda Danker from Team DemiGods for the 'Postcards for Mount Olympus' event on 18th December 2016 . This piece was inspired by our opposing states of who were are and what we are expected to be age wise. Ever wondered what it is like to be, To be your actual self without inhibition Without inhibition by society and your community, Your community that is of a certain age and type. Childish (adj) Immature. Growing old is mandatory but growing up is optional. There is no reward for: Tantrums and unrealistic demands Impatience and selfishness. Most people still live their lives in jungle gym politics, cafeteria cliques and hierarchy of expensive toys. Mature (noun) Fully developed physically. I have not been the fastest bloomer, height wise but I am an old soul. They tell me if I am small, others will come to my aid, will pick me up with their wings and worries. Like a child I wil

Life does not come with instruction manuals but as we go through Life , we learn lessons and keep progressing to move forward and upward. May we continue to have hope and believe in ourselves to build a better tomorrow. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! A young man once said, "Be the change you want to be." "See things beyond what is before your eyes." "Diminish in yourself so that you may increase." "Even the smallest effort leads to big effects." After today, everything will change Genetics are your predisposition Hereditary traits are unchangeable but I know you can go beyond that. Jaded hearts and careless minds Caving into our weaknesses Elevate your spirits Empty your tank Envy no one Own your future. Pen down your every thought Queue your favourite things on your list Are you ready to start living again? As alive as the first breath you took as a child Tip the scale of nothingness You have the potenti

I. You asked me when my God had died, I said, "Why, on the day of Atonement." Yet we both knew, that deeper still, the question lay unanswered. You asked me when my God did rise, I said, "Why, three days after Calvary." The answer came as winsome as those Sunday mornings I did not go to church. You asked me who my God had saved, I said, "Why, sinners all around us." Straight in your eye I looked, but saw no damnation there. You asked me when my God had come, "Why, Christmas Day - but you knew that." When would He come? "No date is set." Will I be there? "I do not know." Will you be there? "I dare not go." II. You asked me when my God had died, I should have said, "Why, when I lied Lied that I believed in Him, While in my heart I knew not Him." You asked me when my God did rise, I should have said, "I must admit, Admit that though

Faithfulness is maintaining the trust that we have built and keeping it strong no matter what gets in the way. It is what keeps the momentum going and the depth of the relationship growing. L oyalty is to put you as my priority O ne and only one to fulfill me Y ou and I will build a life that is solid A way from you I will not stray L ive by your side even when you are invalid T rust in you whole-heartedly, Y ou will be my net of security. - SY 02:44H 23rd October 2016 Jalan Pahang SY is a 'Jacqueline of all trades' who loves wearing plaids. She doesn't believe in things that fade and fulfills the promises that she made. She seeks the hearts of the troubled, to be a listener in times when things are doubled. She's the kind who stands in the gap, who will only call it quits when it's a wrap.

Mama Lia #evilauntylia challenged us to write on food that we do not like. As for me, I am usually not picky but the one thing I would not crave, is 'chendol'. This is dedicated to those who do enjoy this sweet delight. Along the alleys of Keng Kwee Street, Where tourists flock to beat the heat, Resides a bustling hawker stall, Serving a local delicacy called ' chendol' . Rows of people queuing messily, Calling out for the attention of the aunty, For bowls of chilled, sweet simplicity, To have by the roadside in all its glory. Cubes of ice floating buoyantly, Cooling down the white silky sea, Green slippery strings swimming about, Springy and sliding in and out. The bowl is dressed like an icy dream, Lined with satin white coconut cream, Stitched with threads of gelatinous goodness, Stained of rich brown sugary sweetness. - SY 23:36H 17th October 2016 Mt. Olympus HQ

December is here and that only means one thing: Winter is coming. On my way back from Singapore, it was drizzling slightly and I was reminded of the harsh winters we used to have in Kursk, Russia. Recently in Mama Lia's class, we were given the assignment of describing weather. This is my attempt at putting that exercise in to good use. Hello white, whimsical Winter, Temperature drops degrees lower, Winds are churning drastically stronger, The air is crisp, brittle and colder. Snowflakes fall like delicate feathers, Refracting light effortlessly like shimmering glitter, Bedazzled are the surfaces as blankets of soft clouds of snow pile upon each other. Your days are getting much shorter, Sunlight diminishing and weaker Disseminating through the gloomy, bruiting weather. Your chilling nights grow darker, Like an endless charcoal covered canvas spackled with flickering flames of lighters, Stars slowly losing their glimmer. Ice spikes form like giant spli

On the 25th of October  Larry Yap  posted a status that had a nice ring to it. So, I decided to reply with a rhyme and one line led to another. When the day was over, we had a really cool collaboration between  #Simple Words  and the Muruku Murmurations. This collaboration was performed at ' If Walls Could Talk Open Mic ' on the 5th of November 2016. You can watch the  recap  of our performance and read the original post  here . Some slight edits were made as we practiced. I am truly thankful, blessed and honoured to have this experience; writing and performing with such a humble and talented person. The little, the frail and the fickle, The brittle nail start to tickle. The skin resists but tingles Tiny electric shocks mingle, As sweat droplets trickle. Fragile, docile nerve endings unsettle, all at once unravel, as instinct triggers giggles. Composure now rattled Control has become a battle. Ghostly pleasure fights the urge to put up a struggle Urg

A smile can either be an expression or a plastered cover up to maintain a presentation. This smile you see Was never mine, It was borrowed From someone else's face; Worn as a mask So you would not see What is hidden Underneath. - SY 13:36H 23rd October 2016 Ante, One Utama

We met Nadia Zahari at 'Verbal Diarrhoea' hosted by Minut Init some time ago. Both Nadia and I love to travel and we decided to collaborate on that topic of interest. Take a peak into our 'Travel Log'. Wonderful wanderlust, The thrill of travelling, Excitement bursting, When I jump on the city bus. Peek into the little nooks, Get lost in quint and quiet crannies, Walk down random alleys, Rewrite generic travel books. Feet splashing is my favourite thing, Take me down to the moat, On that little yellow boat , So I can sing this entire spring. The contours of these foreign floors, Take me on a journey as time ticks, Rich history embedded in these bricks, My imagination dances through these doors. The townsfolk painted the town red, At night they sing their anthems, And dance, and conjured the night phantom, Say, Hail the victorious dead! My pen dotting and pencil sketching, Etching the imagery of scenic beauty, Journals of culture

It is almost the end of the year and there was a lot that has happened since the birth of 'The Muruku Murmurations'. Welcome to a fresh look and feel to the blog like freshly fried muruku right out of the wok. . 'The Muruku Murmurations Issue #1 Zine on display at Zine Canteen hosted by Odd One Out Magazine at Awegallery. Unfortunately the zines were sold out and it was a collective decision not to have any more reprinted. With that said, I will be working on new material and publishing my own zines next year. I am looking at having a special issue for collaborations and guest murmurators if they are interested. Proceeds of the zine sales will be used to fund a new project called, 'Poetic Art Around The World'. 'Poetic Art Around The World' is a collaboration of artwork by random artists from Malaysia and poems inspired by their art work turned into postcards that will be sent to selected people around the world, 15 different countries to be e

Without trust there is no us, without you and I having belief and faith in each other, there is no way to build something that will last almost forever. You are worth every part of me to give, to love and to hold. Can I put my trust in you? Can I close my eyes And still know that you are there, When I take a breath Will I still know that you care. Can I make a stand And have you there beside me, When I reach out my hand Will yours be there to catch me. Can I take a step back And see that you are steady, When I make a leap forward  Will I know that you are ready? Can I believe And trust that you are true, When I stay instead of leave, Will you do the same too? - SY 21:19H 18th October 2016 LRT Universiti

A homage to Kak Lara Hassan Across dreamlands; green belts that stretched throughout the gracious pastures. Golden painted sky on the horizon's canvas and frolicking cotton clouds licked by mortal eyes that were in awe. There in the distance, I saw you. A stranger with words and heart that had silently spoken out loudly to me; you whom had written across the dreamlands: pictures of mysteries; language of hidden poetry. You had written art and left it for me to find them all across the dreamlands – the vast continent of slumber and awake. I knew then that I had to know you now, the one that had crafted the dreamlands; calm and tender soul, a place of truth and humanity secrets could hold. You, across the dreamland, I had dreamt of meeting you. And I want you to know; I am halfway there – bleeding – fingers making sentences to cut the distance, with my words and thoughts, still bleeding. And I want you to know; across the dreamlands I am here. - Jack

My heart has found a home and my home has found a heart, a place for comfort and belonging. A place to comfort and belong. My home is being in your arms, Embraced in warmth, On your chest I will rest Wrapped in your blanket of security. My smile is sculpted by your charm, Humourous jokes that you crafted Etched into my long term memory Conversations that lasts for hours Your thoughts are what I can afford, Your happiness is my reward. My dream is slipping away From consciousness, Fall into a solace of slumber From January till December. Discovering dreamland together, Where you and I will be In each other's comfort, Where our eyes meet with ease. My home is where your heart is, Making my life in sync with yours, In unison to our heart's beat. - Swit Marie 00:51H 25th October 2016 Jalan Pahang

I thought I was good at math before I met you. Now x is no longer an unknown to be found but a mystery unraveling. The circumference of a circle cannot contain all that radiates from this centre. And one plus one now equals infinity. - Amelia

After months of recuperation and losing my definition, time and time again being asked who am I and what I want. This piece would be an expression of my entity, who I am and what want to be. I am a female ball of enthusiasm Soaring and cascading with fanaticism For all things pop cultural and traditional All I want is to be original Not a carbon copy of the girl next door Nor the outline of what was done before Travel down the road less explored A pioneer of innovating things that I adore. I could not be bothered by temporary non-necessities Fallacies, twisted tensions and false realities, What you call fab, To me, is a drag. Show me its worth and substance Then, you have every right to brag  I cannot tolerate air and cotton candy Too sweet without the sour, bitter and salty. Life is not one dimensional with only you to be irrational, For all to fall at your feet and tell you that you deserve this seat. Breath and be your principles, That

Winding We started from examining how thick the thread is. We chose what color we desire. We went on for hours winding to make balls of thread. We also started from saying how excited we were this morning. It mattered what we had for breakfast or if we had breakfast at all. Then we wind another thread, talk about our lives. ‘How’s your boyfriend?’ ‘Are the children eating parya?’ ‘The sky is so blue!’ It is a hopeful day without the promise of rain. ‘I use to keep small cuts of thread in my mouth,’ auntie said. She would spat them at their backyard, after. Her grandmother saves the tiniest length of threads and ties them together. So it is not sayang. We wind to make balls of thread. When the day is about to be over we are winding still. Lest be known, today, our own lives took a rewind. Warping Leave the cotton for the old people to make pillows. Just crack the kapasanglay slowly, carefully or you won't have a nice boat. &q

Happy Halloween to all the oddballs, enthusiasts, lovelies and children of all ages. This was an assignment from months ago given by Mama Lia #evilauntylia. We had a poetry round and combined a line from each of our works to form a stanza. Then we used that stanza to write a new piece. I am not much of a story teller or fiction writer, enjoy! It has been 54 years, 3 months 2 weeks and one day, Hiding behind curtains of lies, schemes, and treachery, Dawned by the eclipse of misdirection and bitterness, I live in the dark, damp, cellar of injustice, Who is counting? The days I have imprisoned myself here, I am just passing time like fruit flies, Waiting to finish it's life cycle and die, Reaping the rotten fruits of the seeds sewn by my bloodline. The kind heiresses use to kill their spinster aunts, With the hope of kin in hand, Like the grasshopper that hops around, As it heard a whisper, "Is this my beginning or the end?" When the water floa

Based off of a conversation with a friend, I wrote this piece with only one thing in mind, how? How does one pick themselves up and try again? How do you feel again after not feeling anything for so long?   How do you explain, That you do not feel pain, And happiness is a distant memory, Because all you feel is empty. How do you put into words, That everything you feared, Was starting to come true, Right when you thought you almost had a breakthrough. How do you begin to understand, The million questions that fill you mind, When things are no longer in your hands, And you lose all sense of time. How do you go about living, When you're barely existing, Consumed by the emptiness, And it all just becomes a mess. - JN  2.00am, 28th October 2016 Home, Kelana Jaya

how did you live you and i how did we change someone's life for the better how deeply did we cut into the fleshy stereotypes that seduce and fester and lop them off piece by piece what seeds of hope did we plant  in the hearts of children whose dreams withered before they were even birthed what justice did we fight for when wrong is twisted like a diseased root to be the new black the new mutated right or did we even fight at all when the battle raged around us and we fell  like scarecrows in a storm  our convictions leaking from us like straw how did we live you and i or have we lived at all - Shuku

The notion that there is someone out there who fits all our broken pieces perfectly is a very realistic one, but what we're never told is the fact that sometimes we meet that person and have to let them go. For whatever the reason, we consolidate, and we realize not only will we never love that way again, we will possibly never love again. And that's when we tell ourselves - No More.  Let there be no sadness. As I sob uncontrollably, gasping for air and clutching my chest, let me remember that there will be better days ahead. Let there be no anger. As I bite my lip and dig my fingers deep into my skin to restrain myself from giving into the pain, let me remember kindness & gentleness. Let there be love. As I let your hand go & you take with you the remnants of my heart to do with them what you will, may you always remember that I love you with everything I have and will continue to do so from a distance.  Let there be no more.  For you were the

When you let yourself open up to your emotions again, chances are you can experience love again. I am thankful for recent events that has given me a reminder of the very love that I need and more importantly, the love I am wiling to give. Unconditional, unbridled and unforgettable. After writing chapters on loneliness and wanting, this string of chapter poems will be on what I need in a lasting relationship. This is an interactive piece, insert 'LOVE' at the beginning of every sentence, this piece can also be read just as it is. Love each other unconditionally, Only shared between you and me, Vicious in a cycle of out loving Each other as long as we are living. Every moment of every day. Varying in many ways, Even when we are most unlovable Relentlessly when we are able. Lasting through the darkest nights, Avails through the toughest fights, Seeing through every failure Trying to sustain with valor. In truth, grace and kindness Nails through hate a

Inspired by The Longest Ride by Nicholas Sparks, a show that reminded me that diversity is hard to overcome but not impossible. What started out as encouragement from #thebestestfriend, turned into a collaboration! When two worlds collide, It is then that they must decide, To throw their love away, Or if it's enough to make them stay. Like chalk and cheese, Or apple and oranges if you please, Differences outnumber the similarities, But true love knows no boundaries. Two different backgrounds, Right down to the way they sound, But perfect for each other, And so the bull rider fell in love with the art major. He fought valiantly in the name of their love, While she immortalized them with words as soft as the winged dove, Their love was no delicate flower, But a sturdy tree growing slowly by the hour. And while there were clashes in their diversity, It strengthened them to overcome adversity, Filling in the gaps to create a whole, Making each other increasing

Is this the key to why you would not tarry?  When things fell to pieces   or went awry,    I was taught to say    I'm sorry -    You were taught to say    goodbye? - Amelia

A Taytay attempt at trying to describe the many parts of a relationship with colors. Black.  The remnants of my heart before you, as dark as ink that slowly seeped into my soul, turning me as bitter as the coffee I drink.  Yellow.  The small rays of light that slowly beamed through the cracks of despair, as you beamed at me from across the table, albeit shyly.  Pink.  The colour of my cheeks that I deny every time I talk about you, unable to wipe the child-like grin on my face as I recall the things you say to me in secret and say about me in public.  Green.  The peace I feel every time I awaken at an hour ungodly to me, yet am satiated because your face is next to mine, softly wishing me Good Morning, which is in essence the best thing about the morning.  Orange.  My small streaks of irrational jealousy at women on the receiving end of heart emojis that I want to claim as mine, but knowing deep down that a heart is only claimed when given willingly, not d

The human touch is the most vital treatment you can give to a person going through moments of mental instability. It is the only thing that feels secure and real because every other sense cannot be trusted. Cradle me securely in your arms Let your warm embrace make me calm. As the cries of my heart fill the air Touch me gently with your tender, loving care. Soothe the trembling in my skin Hush the tears that are building within. Slowly wipe the moisture that leaks Along the curves of my cheeks. Softly whisper close to my ear, So that your velvety voice is all I can hear. - SY 1248H 4th October 2016 Jalan Pahang SY is a 'Jacqueline of all trades' who loves wearing plaids. She doesn't believe in things that fade and fulfills the promises that she made. She seeks the hearts of the troubled, to be a listener in times when things are doubled. She's the kind who stands in the gap, who will only call it quits when it's a wrap

seekor mentol berkukur sepi  menjirus ruang kafe dengan cahayanya seekor mentol berkukur sepi dalam sangkar besinya menyanyi lagu malam sambil ia mencicip bisu bulir-bulir kopi mengalir perlahan di hujung meja - Jack

This one goes out to all the ladies who have ever been emotionally abused in a relationship.  This was me trying to capture that initial defeat one feels, and the self-loathing and slow chipping away of one's confidence. Emotional abuse is a very real form of abuse with very long lasting traumatic effects. Ladies it is important however to remember that it is very much survivable.  Say you're sorry.  Don't assess the facts but just apologize first, so he would be mildly appeased albeit still irritated at whatever it is he has convinced you is your latest crime, on your long rap sheet of perceived stupidity. Do not look him in the eye.  Always look down in remorse and submission, remembering always your place in this world and that you shouldn't be so audacious as to ever look him in the eye.  Think simple thoughts.  Do not think about times when you were a spit fire, fuelled by music and movement and when you used to scream at bad drivers out your win

October 10th is World Mental Health Day. I wrote this during the # NaPoWriMo Prompt Challenge to write about a month that is cruel. I chose the month of May as it was Mental Health Awareness Month in America. This piece is an insight go what goes on in the mind of the anxious and depressed. Find out more about  Mental Health Month  &  World Mental Health Day ! What? You have MDD? Suffering from anxiety? Give me a break... It's all in your head. Don't you even try, Attempt to talk to me, Like a lid shut tight, you pry, Using your leverage, I see. You try to understand, What is depression? Just so you can reprimand, This adjustable condition. Have you been trapped before? Suffocated and breathless, My oxygen is the truth by which you swore, But my atmosphere is lies, lies and more lies. I can't breath when everyone crowds around, Pin me to a corner into a submission, Do the count out to get up from the ground, But deep d

I think, the more someone cares about you the more they say your name. If you put it in a mathematical equation, they have a positive correlation. N + I = C  (N – number of times name is said, I – initial times of name called, C – units of care) They even say it more dearly. There’s this, depth in their voices. D(N + I) = C  (N – number of times name is said, I – initial times of name called, C – units of care, D – depth and dearliness of voice) But perhaps it’s just me. Perhaps I think so because I just want him to care about me. D(N + I) = CV (N – number of times name is said, I – initial times of name called, C – units of care, D – depth and dearliness of voice, V – void in my heart that wants to be filled) I want to be a manic dream. Everyone’s manic pixie dream girl. The one that people miss when she leaves the room. The one that everyone remembers as the smart, beautiful but crazy girl. The almost, but never girl. But again, I suck at math. Sometimes I like to think

Today I'd like to celebrate a fast friend, yet a really true one, and one of the best I've got right now (and so far). I can't thank him enough for his quiet & constant support for my endeavours, and for the simple ways he has been there for me when I needed him to be. Here's to you, Serigala - I will tether hotspot for you to catch Pokemon any day of the week :)  Charming you don't mean to be but you are,  Surpassing all the pretty boys by far,  What you are is a solid & truly nice man,  Of your music & dance moves I am a big fan. The sway of your hips with your legs between mine, There is a cool vibe about you but your eyes are kind,  There is no lying you give me 3am thoughts, Although I know realistically it is all for nought. I have to admit I do enjoy your gaze,  And the sensation when my body you accidentally graze,  But this shameless flirting is harmless at best,  Which is why at the end of every Wednesday I can la

This piece is inspired by the lyrics of 'Paint' from 'The Surrogate Friend'  album by Francis Wolf. Happy Birthday to you, Wolf! Thank you for your words of kindness, encouragement and love. This piece is dedicated to you. Colours of you make my day, You take away the gloom of the grey, Paint roses on my cheeks, Every time you start to speak. Paint my life with rainbows, Make my days colourful, Shimmer in the browns of my eyes Every time you be my surprise. With all the things you randomly said, Paint my laughs in fiery red, Your comedy is as good as gold, Every punchline never gets old. I will always be there for you As the sea and skies are blue, You are the yellow in the sunshine rays, Paint my life with your love every day. - SY 19:49H 4th October 2016 Bayu Timor

It has been a truly fruitful years for the Muruku Murmurations, from performing as trios to publishing our own zine and having our own show. However all good things must come to an end, and it is important to quit while one is ahead. The murmurators of the Muruku Murmurations are in very different places individually and creatively, hence it is best we take a step back from collaborations with each other and push forward to forge our own path. I hope you still enjoy our Murmurations to come, and continue supporting us individually despite this separation.  - SB I can liken our journey in poetry to a story or book. In a story arc, there is the beginning and an inciting incident which led to the conception of 'The Muruku Murmurations'. The tension builds as the characters go through different conflicts and crisis. Once the climax has passed, there is a resolution. Then the next chapter/episode/volume begins in the saga. The characters evolve and expand through their own d

The waiting game is the hardest game to play. Most of the time we are thrown into the game without actually wanting to play. To all those stuck in the waiting game, know that you are not alone.  Restless heart, Mind on overdrive, Wishing feelings were a choice, And it was easier to remain poised. Unable to sit still, The fidgetiness is a form of mental torture, Apparently life gets better, But life is a battle that's only uphill, Nothing can be done, The waiting game is anything but fun, No get out of jail free card, No map to illuminate the path. The minutes turn into hours, The hours turn into days, You keep  playing the game, In hopes things change. - JN 11.45am, 30/9/2016 (Friday) Home, Kelana Jaya

blues malam minggu sebiru warna rambutmu yang aku curi muse untuk menulis satu lagi sajak biru kau kata biru adalah warna paling hangat; aku setuju kerana setelah melihat kamu, ia membuat aku ingin menjadi seperti aiskrim mcd yang berada di bawah langit cerah sesuka hati meleleh ke pelbagai arah aku bayangkan menjadi macam tu bilamana kita berpegangan tangan sambil berjalan keliling taman petang-petang (kalau hari panas, lepak kafe pun ok) warna biru, antara warna paling menghangatkan maybe because when I hear the word 'blue' I used imagined the feeling of winter and loneliness or monsoon season; rainy days nak dekat waktu maghrib are being replaced by blankets and snuggles and hot cocoa, though milo's good too; I know now the color blue is much more than just a dye or a music genre the choice of color, your hair makes me want to be Scott Pilgrim and hey, I don't mind fighting all your evil exes so as long you rock that look good oh babe, yo

People say that you shouldn't make comparisons between past relationships and the one that you're currently in. Sometimes, comparisons are inevitable, but they also show you how far you've come for the better.  You're not the name I carve on the tree, In all my adolescent glee. Pressing the contraband blade into the rough bark as hard as I can, Believing that an indentation in the brown wood would seal my love forever. You're not the phantom feeling in my hand, Where one that squeezed too hard once existed. I can still feel my sweaty palms and the heat, And my knuckles turn a shade of black and blue. You're not the muddy tracks I attempt to follow, As I struggle all alone uphill, Feeling as forgotten as the wet fallen leaves, And as desolate as the single trail downhill. You are the name I ink onto my heart, Every day as I voice it out in different intonations, Inseminating it into the world in rhyme. You are the southpaw that is always in