The Muruku Murmurations

As the sun drops further down the skyline, We climb up those steps, Filling the stairwell with our excited chatter. Squeezing ourselves into whatever cosy corner we can. Dim the lights! Adjust that spotlight! Mic stands at the ready. Poets, breathe in deep. It doesn’t matter if you are new, or a poet with a heavyweight belt of words, Those butterflies will start flying. But take heart, This is where walls can talk, and they say that you are welcome. This is where you hear the snapping of fingers as you speak, Your voice may tremble as you pour your soul into those scribbled lines, But still they listen and nod, Poets, breathe in deep. Coffee machine hissing in the background as you wait, Teasing your senses with the promise of dark, roasted inspiration, Then an expectant hush falls across the floor as a clear, musical voice echoes through those thoughts “Welcome to If Walls Could Talk…” If walls could talk, they would whisper, “look to their eyes.” A light ...

Not too sure what had brought this on. I was thinking about murder, and the process of it, and all the sensations related to it. And the many ways you can murder someone, or yourself. And then, there you have it. A poem.  I can smell death. It is in the bloody scent, Just before the butcher slices the chicken's throat. It is in the exhaust, Emitting smoke from bikes of mat rempits who are going way too fast. It is in the cranking sound, Of the car's malfunctioning gearbox. And also in the ashes, The remnants of vanilla flavoured tobacco. It is in the air, everywhere. I smell it in the perfume on my friend, Leftovers from a bareback conquest. I smell it in the train, As it chugs along on poorly maintained tracks. I sense it in the mud, As small children run by with slippers that have flat soles. I sniff it out, In dark clogged drains where the mosquitoes breed. I camoulage myself. With the taste of chilli, And herbal tea. With anti-bacterials...

NaPoWriMo Challenge Prompt Week 6: Today, I challenge you to write a poem about food. This could be a poem about a particular  food, or about your relationship to food in general. Or it could simply be a poem relating an  incident that involves food, like David Ignatow’s “The Bagel”. Still not convinced? Perhaps  these thirteen food poems will give you some inspiration. Red. The vibrant colour sprinkled atop. Spoonful by spoonful, Dished into the bowl. White. The noodles before it is stained. And the egg, fluffy & untouched, That makes me flushed. Yellow. The yolk perfectly poached & ready, To be penetrated & set free, Splashing its way into the mix. Brown. In perfect curves & clumps, Tucked away in the corner, Providing saltiness & satisfaction. Combined, These are the colours of perfection, With a side of leafy soup, And herbal tea. - SB 6.02pm, 28th June 2016 Ghetto HQ

NaPoWriMo Challenge Prompt Week 6: Today, I challenge you to write a poem about food. This could be a poem about a particular  food, or about your relationship to food in general. Or it could simply be a poem relating an  incident that involves food, like David Ignatow’s “The Bagel”. Still not convinced? Perhaps  these thirteen food poems will give you some inspiration. First there is a steaming hot mountain of rice     The kind that is fragrant, fluffy and nice, Every grain cooked perfectly, Did I mention it was fluffy?             The mountain of rice is then topped with curry, This curry is cooked with just the right amount of spice, It is what makes it yummy, There are mild curries for those who can't take spicy. With this rice and curry, vegetables are aplenty, For those who want to be healthy Or like their greens, By this point you are almost bursting at the seams. You are then presented with your options ...

NaPoWriMo Challenge Prompt Week 6: Today, I challenge you to write a poem about food. This could be a poem about a particular  food, or about your relationship to food in general. Or it could simply be a poem relating an  incident that involves food, like David Ignatow’s “The Bagel”. Still not convinced? Perhaps  these thirteen food poems will give you some inspiration. This is the hottest, spiciest love affair in the history of Malaysian mankind. Let's see if you can guess who my mystery love is. Oh my love, my sweet tantalising love, My number one and all of the above, So hot clothed in that spicy red, I would eat you every morning in bed. Soft and rich, steaming with perfection, Every grain deserves my attention, I would not share you with anyone, You and I will soon become one. Adorning accessories ever so colourful, What a sight you are, purely wonderful, Without them you lose your identity, They add many levels to your personality. You ...

Today's birthday poem is dedicated to a good ol' friend of mine. It was a chanced meet after an epic joint LEO event back in 2005. Back then he was able to tickle my funny bone and entertain me for hours. After 11 years, he hasn't lost his charm and still has magic in his smile. Happy Birthday Calvin! Drop by ANTE in One Utama, have a drink, get some grub and wish this awesome dude a happy birthday! There is more than meets the eye, You will see it when you give him a try, His humour both slap stick and dry, Yes! He is unlike any other guy. He flows with much efficiency, Goes about with chivalry and courtesy, With good cheer and great comedy, He is everyone's favourite company. A Jack of all trades, he masters them all  Never misses an opportunity when he gets the call, Hang with him and be sure to have a ball, He has the ability to stir up laughter throughout the hall. To venture near and far, then conquer the seas...

People are often taken for granted. I wrote this for a friend to remind her how amazing she is and also to remind her special someone that he is indeed lucky to have her. You break her heart, I break your face. ;) That grin on her face I have missed, It was gone for a while, From dating boys who were gits, I'm glad to see it again, twice as wide. Don't send her down that road again, Don't tell her she's the one, Then decide it's not for you and run, Why you boys choose to do that, I cannot comprehend. Be patient with her, It takes a lot to peel off those layers, The ones that were cemented because of the people before you, If only you knew the things she's been through. Even when things aren't great, Don't tell her that loving her was a mistake, Don't say things you don't mean, I'd rather not see her back in 'The Chronicles Of The In Between'. Things may not always be rainbows and butterflies, There will also be...

I pick the trappings I picked the trapping Without humour, without thought I took the gem, I took the man - it was the dream I'd sought. I thought I ought, I thought I ought To hasten to the trappings And though I fought, and though he fought We both laced up the fastenings. I shuddered not, I dared not stop To ponder on the longings: For different life: unwedded wife, To have not these belongings. But by and by The sands of time Buried the wistful longings And time was cruel And time was kind - When trappings bind, they also blind, With no more me left behind There's no more me left to find. - Amelia

Sometimes we're so caught up in our daily lives, we don't stop to enjoy the small things that bring us contentment. I've been so busy with everything that's been going on, it was great to just be able to take a breath.   A book in one hand, Some tea in another, A cool breeze blowing, The sticky sweat away. Wrapped in cool sheets, As the sun streams in, Through curtains so white, On a lazy Monday. Driving along the road, As all the lights turn green, A long forgotten song comes on, Taking you back to then. Running up the escalator, To the platform, Only to realize, You've just caught the train. Waking up late, And missing breakfast, To open the fridge, And see a tapao'd lunch. Worrying about bills, At the end of the month, Checking your balance, To see four figures. At the end of the day, It is the little and simple things, That in their own small significant way, Bring about a sense of happiness & contentment. - SB 7....

NaPoWriMo Challenge Prompt Week 5: April is a time for planting things (at least where I am, in Washington DC – you may still be waiting for spring, or well into some other season!) At any rate, I’ve recently been paging through seed catalogs, many of which feature “heirloom” seeds with fabulous names. Consider the “Old Ivory Egg” tomato, the “Ozark Razorback” or “Fast Lady” cow-pea, “Neal’s Paymaster” dent corn, or the “Tongues of Fire” bush bean. Today, I challenge you to spend some time looking at the names of heirloom plants, and write a poem that takes its inspiration from, or incorporates the name of, one or more of these garden rarities. To help you out, here are links to the Southern Exposure Seed Exchange and the Baker Creek Seed Company. Also, here’s a hint – tomatoes seem to be prime territory for elaborate names. And who knows, maybe you’ll even find something to plant in your garden!! I see those pearly white grains, Displayed perfectly in a dainty little bowl, Or...

NaPoWriMo Challenge Prompt Week 5: April is a time for planting things (at least where I am, in Washington DC – you may still be waiting for spring, or well into some other season!) At any rate, I’ve recently been paging through seed catalogs , many of which feature “heirloom” seeds with fabulous names. Consider the “Old Ivory Egg” tomato, the “Ozark Razorback” or “Fast Lady” cow-pea, “Neal’s Paymaster” dent corn, or the “Tongues of Fire” bush bean. Today, I challenge you to spend some time looking at the names of heirloom plants, and write a poem that takes its inspiration from, or incorporates the name of, one or more of these garden rarities. To help you out, here are links to the Southern Exposure Seed Exchange and the Baker Creek Seed Company. Also, here’s a hint – tomatoes seem to be prime territory for elaborate names. And who knows, maybe you’ll even find something to plant in your garden!! Rosa chinensis , often called angel wings,  Gracefully, he...

This is a song inspired poem powered by 'Gravity' by John Meyer. A force that keeps us grounded, So we don't go astray as we go afloat, Gravity is working against me, My heart sinking into the grounds of somewhere remote. My heart can't stand more than this, This man and all the love he has to give, It feels a lot like hit and miss, Life as we know it is what we have to give. It's too difficult to go and to stay, The push and pull will eventually give way, I can't stop the words that he would say, Those dreams he painfully throws away. The more he gives and the less he takes, Two folds or more isn't enough, If it isn't good enough, he will raise the stakes, I can see he is having it rough. Gravity is working against me, Too good to be true, this love of his, Gravity bringing me down to reality, To say goodbye to a love like this. On bended knees we surrender, One to tired to stand, the other by gravity's hand, W...

For a friend I got to know about a year ago,  Happy Birthday to you Biren! At the same corner there you sit, With a gin and tonic to fit your wit, A smile you give to the newcomers, You offer your seat and make them calmer. A cheers to break the ice, A compliment to say you look nice, Your eyes twinkle in the night, Setting the mood to be just right. Your skin inked with the words from your heart, About your life that was torn apart, A regular at Sid's as always, Where you go to at the end of your days. Just the second you arrive, You make the bar come alive, As long as the night is young, You'll be there laughing out your lungs. -SY 10:32H 24th December 2015 TMS HQ

Being a poet is sitting beside the fountain at 12am with two ringgit 7-11 coffee looking at the polluted sky with non-existent stars talking about what to do when I make it big. I want to have a house by the lake or in the highlands and do nothing but write all day. You said that you would promote my poetry collection on social media and I said that I would help you sell your novel. Being a poet is sharing a 9 x 9 feet room with my friends because we can’t afford to pay rent. Sleeping on thin mattresses bumping on each other swearing at night after bottles of Korean beer, Japanese whisky, Russian Vodka and a plethora of grey cotton candy. Let’s not forget that one crazy friend who writes until 4am every day, the light on her laptop gave me a perpetual migraine. Being a poet is putting on makeup everyday wanting to look good yet not being able to afford proper brands. Come midday, the heat of the sun makes my face melt. Heck, I can’t even afford makeup remover and...

I try my level best not to use profanity in my poetry (as much as I might use it in my daily life), but there comes a time in life when you realize you put up with so much shit for some male that you just need to say - Fuck You (It's Okay). This is a response piece, meaning if it were to be read out, the audience would say "It's Okay". But is it really okay though? ;)  For all the times you point at something & wordlessly ask me to pass it to you,  Fuck You (It's Okay). For all the times you made me sit & wait in the car for 45 minutes, when you had rushed me out of the house, Fuck You (It's Okay). For all the times I was made to feel like a bad driver because I didn't drive like you, Fuck You (It's Okay). For all the times you made me feel like my taste in movies was inferior to yours, Fuck You (It's Okay). For all the times I had stayed awake for you,  Fuck You (It's Okay). For all the times you inval...

NaPoWriMo Challenge Prompt Week 4: " In his poem “The Waste Land,” T.S. Eliot famously declared that “April is the cruelest month.” But is it? I’d have thought February. Today I challenge you to write a poem in which you explore what   you   think is the cruelest month, and why. Perhaps it’s September, because kids have to go back to school. Or January, because the holidays are over and now you’re up to your neck in snow. Or maybe it’s a month most people wouldn’t think of (like April), but which you think of because of something that’s happened in your life." Put me to slumber in the month of June, Of death, attacks and unfaithfulness, Plague me these cruel memories, It has been years down the line, Maybe not enough days, Passed since it ended. Vanished as I blink, Faint minutes, Seconds, Lost. Far, Away, Twenty-four, Detesting sun rise, Reluctant for sunset, Frantically count it down, Pressing ...

NaPoWriMo Challenge Prompt Week 4: " In his poem “The Waste Land,” T.S. Eliot famously declared that “April is the cruelest month.” But is it? I’d have thought February. Today I challenge you to write a poem in which you explore what   you   think is the cruelest month, and why. Perhaps it’s September, because kids have to go back to school. Or January, because the holidays are over and now you’re up to your neck in snow. Or maybe it’s a month most people wouldn’t think of (like April), but which you think of because of something that’s happened in your life." In the year 2009, October changed for me forever. It was the year you celebrated your birthday, In the ICU ward surrounded by urine bags & tubes, Kept alive only by a machine, That was doing the breathing for you. October was the month I practically lived in the waiting room, Waiting for an opportune moment to sneak in, Because visiting hours are obsolete, When the man of your life is fighting fo...

NaPoWriMo Challenge Prompt Week 4: " In his poem “The Waste Land,” T.S. Eliot famously declared that “April is the cruelest month.” But is it? I’d have thought February. Today I challenge you to write a poem in which you explore what   you   think is the cruelest month, and why. Perhaps it’s September, because kids have to go back to school. Or January, because the holidays are over and now you’re up to your neck in snow. Or maybe it’s a month most people wouldn’t think of (like April), but which you think of because of something that’s happened in your life." Christmas is in December, In 2010, we had one that we will always remember, The first one without you, That is something I will never get used to. December is supposed to be happiest month of the year,                   With all the festive cheer, It's never been the same, Without hearing your voices call my name. December is supposed to be the most wonderful ...

A jiwang lune! The kind of relationship you want is when they push you to be better even when it is difficult. They know you can do it, so they support you, encourage you and love you.  You make me smile, I am glad, Even if only for awhile. You make me happy, I thank thee, With you I am me. You instill courage in me, And encourage me, Even when it is difficult. You complete me, I love you, This is forever.  - JN 10.30pm, 12/6/2016 (Sunday) Home, Kelana Jaya

Break ups are made even more difficult with modern day technology, I feel. it's harder getting over a break up in modern times as there are so many reminders popping up here and there unexpectedly.  Getting over a break up is never easy, But it's been made even more difficult with modern technology, With everything made public on social media, It never makes piecing your heart back together easier. There are the pictures and statuses that show up your social media feed. The ones that you did not need to see, It will send you back to that dark place you don't want to be in, Especially when you least expect it. There are the apps that let you revisit the past, With just a click you can walk down memory lane, You get to see how different things were a year ago, Sometimes it's a blessing, most of the time it's a curse. Then there is the changing of relationship statuses on social media, The status changed to 'single' when things ended, And sud...

"mauled by a hamster, you left my heart for the kittens to eat. what the corgi. much woof woof. very shiba inu. you turned me into flakes to be thrown at goldfish infested waters; I am a floating pellet that floats for the tortoises to take a bite at. green canary, green canary; you pecked the mountain of my soul turning it into a rubble and honey, it’s amazing you only took a second of eternity to do it so whilst it took me two seconds of eternity just to start again" and here I am at 1.04 in the morning writing random-est shit just to shut the hell up what's left of the echoes of memories etched from the place where my heart used to be. normally you could hear it beating. now it’s just full of words, books, musics from youtube channels, some leftovers coffee, yesterday's dinner and loneliness. ah, loneliness. but that's another time and place to talk about. - Jack

Today we celebrate the 25th birthday of a poet who goes by many names, the ever capable & loving Joanna Nithiya! Thank you for being such a great Muruku sister!  Happy Birthday Jojobear, Thank you for always being there. Happy Birthday Josephina, May you never get a subpeona.  Happy Birthday Jothiya, May you always go very far. Happy Birthday Jobanana, Never too busy for a cuppa. Happy Birthday #theresidentjiwang, Who will live no sappy song unsung. Happy Birthday #thebestestfriend, Our friendship will have no end. Happy Birthday Joanna Nithiya, You're a dynamic superstar.  - SB 3.24pm, 8th June 2016 TMS HQ

NaPoWriMo Challenge Prompt Week 3: Last week, we wrote portraits of families. Today, let’s turn our vision outward, and write fan letters. I challenge you to write a poem in the form of a fan letter to a celebrity. Now, this could be a celebrity from long ago, and needn’t be an actor or singer (though it could be). You could write to George Washington or Dorothy Dandridge , Marie Curie or The Weeknd . Dear Hippocrates, I applaud you for your ideals, For the principles you uphold, How in your service you keep it real, To have virtues solid as gold. You swore an oath, so did I, You to the gods and mine to the people, To the best of my ability judgement till I die, This covenant to serve and be reliable. By the steps of the infamous geniuses before me, I walk their paved path by their knowledge, In no way selfish to share what they have taught me, Learning never stops at any age. Truthfully, every day is walking through landmines, To balance when ...

You don't always get what you want but it never hurts to know what you want in life. Live a little, day dream a little and who knows, some day, maybe you may get what you want. Firstly, You, breathing life into me, Your kiss awakens me, Gentle, sweet, inviting. Gladness fleeting in your smile, Gazing and wandering eyes, Your soft glances, Your smirk. Secondly, Brisk moment in your arms, Deep carress & embrace, Hold me close. A lingering grasp so tight, For a few seconds, Kiss me lovingly, And go. Thirdly, Getting caught in the rain, As it pours endlessly, Dance with me. To the rhythm of raindrops, Twirl and spin me, Dip me down, Hold me. Fourthly, Tread through the sandy beach, Run to the ocean, Hand in hand. The rushing waves crash in, Swim against the current, Towards the horizon, At sunset. Fifthly, Take trips to the unknown, Venture off the roads, Alone with you. Listen to our...

Inspired by Me Before You, specifically the letter the main male character wrote the main female character. That letter struck a cord within me. More often that not we tend to settle in all aspects of life. We get too comfortable in our comfort zones and before you know it, it's too late to step out of it. So this is a note to self and to everybody to not settle and to always challenge yourself to step out of your comfort zone.  Life may not go as planned, But you have to cherish every moment, It could all be gone in an instant, Don't let fear have the upper hand. There's a fearlessness in you, Don't bury it, most people do, Push yourself out of your comfort zone, Venture into the unknown. Don't let life get in the way, Seize the day, Do what you want to do, You can do anything you set your mind to. Don't settle for mediocrity, Sooner or later it will drive you crazy, Step out of your comfort zone, Even if it makes you groan. Go out and ex...

He was staring at you, sternly. His black hair, and blue eyes in those Asian eyelids, puzzled you. Was it your German friend who stayed around Asia for long? The one who lives in caves? Your memory of him is not enough to explain that stern, piercing look springing from those blue eyes. ‘My ojisan-ojisan has been guiding me all through-out my trip in Japan,’ I told you. You doubted my mythic sensibility. That night, when my great-great grandfather appeared to you with that stern, piercing look springing from those blue eyes in those Asian eyelids, you angered me. You displeased me from your not-so-careful handling of a lady. One of my aunts had those blue eyes. She has yellow fair skin, and black straight hair. She always wondered why she have those light blue eyes. Out of wonder I asked asked Apong, ‘Is it true, Apo Agadang’s father was Japanese?’ We forgot about him all the while. But thanks to my aunt’s blue Asian eyes. ‘Maybe we have the same ancestor,...

The result of too much puisi Melayu & work pressure is an attempt at writing puisi  Melayu as well, albeit not as good as the puisi Melayu that was being read.  Aku terbaring di katil, Membaca buku puisi, Mendengar lagu, Dan di luar bunyi guruh. Aku membaca, Langsung tak terasa, Beban kerja yang bertimbun, Atau arahan untuk berhimpun. Aku membalas mesej, Rakan yang jauh dan dekat, Dan membuat perancangan, Untuk ke sungai & pawagam. Aku sebenarnya bosan, Dengan kerja yang perlu dibuat, Lalu aku membaca buku puisi, Sambil prokrastinasi. - SB 5.23pm, 27th April 2016 TMS HQ