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Showing posts from July, 2016

From A To Z

I was watching this documentary about arranged marriage and how it is such a normal thing in certain cultures and how people are doing everything they can to escape that, including suicide. I was thinking about that and decided to write this.
Another love story,
But this one is out of the ordinary,
Can you handle it?
Don't say I didn't warn you.

Everything was going great,
Finally things were falling into place,
Granted there were a few obstacles here and there,
He wasn't always prince charming.

In a perfect world, they'd live happily ever after,
Just like in the fairy tales we grew up reading,
Keep reading, this is a book you can't put down,
Like wine, it gets better over time.

Making sure they don't make the same mistake their parents did,
Not given a chance to spend their life with the one they love
Oppressing their feelings just to conform to society,
Pretending for the sake of acceptance.

Quietly they set sail,
Reaching a whole new world of freedom,
Stand…

Why?

A collaborative poem, result of a Facebook Poetry Round started by Boss Lady Lia! 
(Lia) Just 3 letters, short and snappy yet so fraught with meaning It can be innocent, curious or belligerent, ready to pick a fight..
(Sheril A Bustaman)
Bordering between a question & confrontration,
People often forget curiosity killed the cat,
Subliminal tones on social media & text,
This three letter word - so easily misinterpreted.

(Jack Malik) “I’m okay”
(Dhabitah Zainal) Or so I have trained myself to believe over the years Because no one has provided me with answers, Just more layers  of questions that linger on in my mind  even after they told me: "some things aren't meant to be  interrogated - they're meant to be accepted."
(Gwendonline E. Hay) and after so many years training cats to stay in bags and teaching curiosity it's meant to be seen on report cards and not heard in polite society the word still fits too easily in my mouth tastes like strength  tastes lik…

Something Happened

Sometimes the best things happen when you don't see them coming, and when you look back & try to trace when it did, the only way to do so is in the form of poetry. Also inspired by Kuch Kuch Hota Hai (Something is Happening)
I guess you could say it crept up on us.
Somewhere in between gazing at each other at Bait as we inconspicuously rested our hands on the table, immersed in the conversation yet conscious that we wanted to touch each other but not quite bridging that small distance between our fingers.
As I watched you watch me devour koli kari, exclaiming how it was the best I've ever had & I never knew chicken curry could ever taste this good paired with a piping hot crispy egg roti, all the while wearing your shades, because it was 1030 in the morning and I hate sunlight.
You sat across from me as I looked into the near distance at the KK Mart, grinning stupidly because my hair was the colour of the night sky and the galaxy and it made me feel liberated, happy an…

SY: Tales of A Night Butterfly

Image
NaPoWriMo Prompt Challenge Week 10:

"Today’s prompt comes to us from Lillian Hallberg. She challenges us to write a “book spine” poem. This involves taking a look at your bookshelves, and writing down titles in order (or rearranging the titles) to create a poem. Some fun images of book spine poems can be found here. If you want to take things a step further, Lillian suggests gathering a list of titles from your shelves (every third or fifth book, perhaps, if you have a lot) and using the titles, as close to the originals as possible, to create a poem that is seeded throughout with your own lines, interjections, and thoughts."
For Steed and Mrs. Peel,
It was the golden game,
There were truly, madly, deeply,
Taken by each other's charm,
He held her hand as she passed by
He said,"Where is my doughnut?"
She ended that night telling Jezebel,
They called us loud!

Soon it turned into Jeeves and wedding bells,
Coloured their own amplified stories,
Wrote vampire diaries …

JN: Somewhere Only We Know

Image
NaPoWriMo Prompt Challenge Week 10:
"Today’s prompt comes to us from Lillian Hallberg. She challenges us to write a “book spine” poem. This involves taking a look at your bookshelves, and writing down titles in order (or rearranging the titles) to create a poem. Some fun images of book spine poems can be found here. If you want to take things a step further, Lillian suggests gathering a list of titles from your shelves (every third or fifth book, perhaps, if you have a lot) and using the titles, as close to the originals as possible, to create a poem that is seeded throughout with your own lines, interjections, and thoughts."



The rose petal beach,  Where we belong,  There's no place like here,  And the mountains echoed,  Goodnight, Beautiful.

 - JN 11.20am, 26/7/2016 (Tuesday) Home, Kelana Jaya

Dancing with Blades

A twisted memory of a child's fascination with blades. What kind of outcome would fester, I wonder. Didn't mum ever tell you not to play with sharp objects.
My eyes in a daze, Not frantic nor in a craze,
Pupils fixed on the light,
That runs from left to right,
Reflected on cold, flat steel,
The solution of this ordeal.

My soft fingertips dance,
Playfully in a trance,
Along the polished edges
Sharpened to slice wedges,
Feeling it's fine line,
Tempting it with time.
My nails tap rhythmically,
The clinks ringing clearly,
My skin craves viscous liquid,
The break of dripping fluid,
Flowing millimetre by millimetre,
Trickling down my fingers.
A blare shatters my concentration,
Reality shakes my imagination,
I exclaim,"But Mum I want to cut the oranges!"
She replies,"No you can't, it is dangerous."
The food processor has taken my chance,
To have this exhilarating dance.
- SY 12:36H 21st June 2016 Jalan Pahang

Rose Tinted Glasses

I've actually been meaning to write this piece for a while now but never got around to doing it. This one is based of the idiom "rose tinted glasses". Rose tinted glasses is when you choose to only see the pleasant things that is happening and ignore the unpleasant things. For the longest time, I wore these rose tinted glasses which only made me see all the pleasant and good in everything, which is good, but I shut off the bad things that were happening. The unpleasant things still happened, but I refused to acknowledge it because I only wanted to see the good in the world. 
There are these glasses,
The one that blocks out the unpleasantry of life,
The ones with a tint of rose.

These glasses may sometimes be a blessing,
For you only see the things that are pleasant,
But that also means you don't see the rest of it.

When the glasses come off,
You then realize that things are not always as they appear,
It might leave you shocked for a while.

When the realization hit…

Poem One

I want her to catch me
gawking at the lines on her forehead,
wondering if it was a challenging story or
a lover or just time
that had stamped her so beautifully because
she invades like a ghost and
the only way to get closer is through
these seasoned creases

I want her to hear
my footsteps on hardwood floorboard as
I run through aisle after aisle with
a thousand shelves filled with words
each time she plays them with her teeth because
it sounds like the kind of music
people play on a Monday night
while driving into the mountains and
being carried away by the buoyancy in the air

I want her to notice
the tender and heavy breaths I take when
she’s one kiss on the cheek away,
the kind of breathing pattern a tenth grader would know when
they skip school with their first love to
skip pebbles and watch water ripples expand away them

I want her to laugh at
how my body answers to every inch of her because
she is a teabag and I’m a pot of hot water and
our chemistry is a burst of infusion colou…

The Hypocrisy of Parenting

Wrote this while pondering on compliance, and filial piety. And what it does to mould children as individuals and if children really have a choice. Deep stuff. I think. 
"Everything that you have, you owe to your parents."

That is the burden the world inflicts on every child the minute it breathes life.
The minute a diaper is first changed, or milk is first suckled.
The debt of a child to a parent that is every growing, with interest.

Parents mould their children into the imagery of individuals of their choice.
They give their daughters a voice, but tell her she is not to raise it against her husband or mother-in-law.
They give their sons choices, but threaten to disown them if they bring back a non-prospective daughter-in-law.

They urge their children to forge friendships, but dictate the circles in which their children run.
"Don't be friends with THAT girl, she's no good for you." without even getting to know That Girl at all.
"That boy got no manner…

SY: To That of Which I Am Afraid

NaPoWriMo Challenge Prompt Week 9:
"Today, I challenge you to write a poem that includes a line that you’re afraid to write. This might be because it expresses something very personal that makes you uncomfortable – either because of its content (“I always hated grandma”), or because it seems too emotional or ugly or strange (“I love you so much I would eat a cockroach for you”). Or even because it sounds too boring or expected (“You know what? I like cooking noodles and going to bed at 7 p.m.”). But it should be something that you’re genuinely a little scared to say."
I am afraid, To say that I am imperfect, That there are parts of me with defect, To show any sign of weakness, That my strength can run out.
To feel vulnerable, That my walls have crumbled, To know that I am incapable, That I am unable.
To accomplish what others can, That I am the failing portion of the plan, To be pushed aside and left behind, That I have missed opportunity's golden hand.
To take the next s…

SB: Used To This

NaPoWriMo Challenge Prompt Week 9:

"Today, I challenge you to write a poem that includes a line that you’re afraid to write. This might be because it expresses something very personal that makes you uncomfortable – either because of its content (“I always hated grandma”), or because it seems too emotional or ugly or strange (“I love you so much I would eat a cockroach for you”). Or even because it sounds too boring or expected (“You know what? I like cooking noodles and going to bed at 7 p.m.”). But it should be something that you’re genuinely a little scared to say."

I could get used to this.

I could get used to being picked up & dropped off, because you want to spend that small amount of time with me despite the fact that it is out of your way.

I could get used to your good morning phone calls despite the fact that it is always at 8am and I hate mornings.

I could get used to having you care about whether my friends are alright and asking if I'm alright with them.

I …

Constellations Collide

I was challenged some time ago to write a piece based on astrology and horoscope compatibility. Let's see if these two stars will clash or match.
Watch the Libran make her entrance,
Work her magic with confidence,
She knows how to tip her scales,
To make sure time with her is never stale.
Secretive and mysterious,
Suave and mischievous,
As long as the Scorpio fancies,
She'll continue to entertain his fantasies.
She works her charm to her delight,
Ruled by Venus as her light,
Easily she fits her scales to size,
Adapting to what she wants as her prize.
Strong and independent are his ways,
Intelligent and witty are his plays,
His sharp tongue brings him much pride,
Beware as Pluto gravitates him to the dark side.
Her conversations teem with intellect,
Careful with the company she selects,
Rather self sufficient and compliant,
But her indecisiveness is persistent.
Beyond his distant and cold exterior,
Deep down he is kind and sincere,
Fueled by passion and desire,
He will set her …

Surrounded By Poetry

It truly is amazing being surrounded by amazing poets who are so grounded. The feeling you get when you read their pieces is something I wouldn't trade for the world. Poets, here's to you.  


I love being surrounded by people who write beautiful words,
The ones who write to be heard,
The ones who write to mend a broken heart,
The ones who write to keep themselves from falling apart.

They bleed their thoughts out into poetry,
Sometimes they publish their work for the whole world to see,
Even when they are filled with uncertainty,
They bare their souls for the world to critique.

Even when they write on a whim,
They write pieces that tug at the heartstrings,
I find that really amazing,
Not everybody can do such a thing.

Being surrounded by brilliant poets is a blessing,
It really is an indescribable feeling,
Though they may tell you they are not great,
Believing them would be a mistake.

Though actions speak louder than words,
They write to let you know that you are not alone,
Some…

Remembering July 16

Nothing beats a broken heart.
Perhaps broken glass panes can.
The once disco bar, Batawa

is now our dance studio.
Today, as I am writing this,
is the 16th of July.

The studio has cracked walls.
Perhaps not a remnant of the earthquake
but of people’s soles that beat the floor

so hard it broke the walls.
Sometimes there are just pieces left behind:
broken hollow blocks, crooked iron bars, rotting wood,

shards of glass windows – that needs ordering.
I always like to think
that when there is earthquake

the gods are dancing.
Inside the studio the smell of Batawa still lingers:
sweat, kisses, sex, and curses

of miners, farmers, and all failed lovers.

- Dumay

At The Ledge

It is a very exhilarating place to be, at the beginning of something that feels like it could be something, yet knowing that it'll amount to nothing. So you try your best to salvage the moment, the perfectness of the situation, and immortalize it in a poem. This goes out to everyone who has ever been afraid to take a leap of faith & crash onto the cliffs of love. 
So close to the edge,
I inhale the air so fresh,
I feel the wind blowing,
And I know my back is turned,
To the cliffs where the unknown lies below,
Yet I do not face them,
I stand on the ledge,
At the edge,
And close my eyes.

The wind howls & threatens to tip me over,
With its attentiveness to detail and its intense look,
The view is amazing & will continue to be so,
If I just keep looking ahead & I don’t look down,
Into the cliffs where the unknown lies below,
Where prospects and the future dwells,
I think I would do well,
To just stand here on the edge,
Of the ledge.

“I won’t fall!” I announce into the …

SB: Power of the Flower

"It’s Friday, and writing poems isn’t easy! So let’s give ourselves a break with a simple prompt today. Poets have been writing about flowers since, oh, the dawn of time. So today, I challenge you to add your own poem to this long tradition, by finding a flower, and versifying in its honor."
Flower power,
Drained by the hour,
Its scent fading,
Petals cascading.

A rose that goes by any other name,
Is still a rose,
So it is such when I go insane,
But for the world I strike a pose.

Daisy did not give me her answer do,
Instead she said "There is nothing here for you",
Like a morning glory I immediately withdraw,
I never want to love anymore.

Like a lily she has stained my heart,
From her I cannot be apart,
My love is like a cactus that can be retained,
Without any sustenance from her I remain.

Thus is the power,
In my flower,
That best blooms,
In heartache & doom.

- SB 9.12pm, 12th July 2016 Garden of Life

SY: Botanical Dissection

It’s #NaPoWriMo Prompt Challenge, and writing poems isn’t easy! So let’s give ourselves a break with a simple prompt today. Poets have been writing about flowers since, oh, the dawn of time. So today, I challenge you to add your own poem to this long tradition, by finding a flower, and versifying in its honor.
I always wanted to write a poem about my favourite flower, the Fuchsia.For the record, this prompt was not easy!
Found in the 1600s,
Undying beauty was still in discovery,
Captivated the eyes of travellers,
Hispanic flavour and tropical splendor,
Strong contrast of unknown combinations,
Incapable of recording it's coloured nature,
A scientist's fascination and curiosity.
Fixated in dual colours commonly,
Under cooling shades of overgrown trees,
Colours so vibrant and exuberant,
Hummingbirds were your favourite visitors,
Symmetrical perfection is your pride,
In a teardrop manner keeping a modest bloom,
A flower within a flower, Flowering in abundance,
Undeserved to wither…

Putera Jiwa Dan Keanggunan

This was a part of me from a while ago, and as promised, we will be seeing a return of the Bright Eyes. May this month have sweet beginnings and sweeter endings to come for the rest of summer! This piece was a reply to Sunshine's piece 'Walau Siapapun Dirimu'
Walau siapapun dirimu, Bagiku kau tetap abadi, Walau dimanpun dirimu, Bagiku kau tetap disini.
Di dalam hatiku yang rindu, Di dalam lagu-laugu yang sayu, Di dalam angin yang bertiup laju, Dengarlah ku berbisik padamu.
Walau siapapun dirimu, Bagiku kaulah cinta abadi.
- Sunshine 14th September 2011 Moscow
Di manalah putera yang ku cari-cari? Puteraku yang seumpama bidadari, Selalu dia yang ada di minda dan hatiku, Sekarang harapan memenuhi hidupku.
Tidak sangka saya dengan putera ini bertemu, Dengannya setiap masa tidak akan jemu, Setiap jenakanya penuh dengan mutu, Meleburkan hatiku yang sekeras batu.
Rasanya kita sehati sejiwa, Dengannya tak akan ku bersambil lewa, Setiap hari berdoa untuk masa, Masa untuk kita bersama-…

What Really Is Scary

As of late, people *coughFruitBowlcough* have been telling me I have changed and have become scary. I don't feel like I have changed. I'd like to think I am the same person I have always been. It got me thinking to what actually is scary. Humanity has become scary. 
People tell me I am scary,
Ever since I turned twenty five,
They tell me that they fear me.

Why would you be afraid of lil' old me?
Am I really that scary?
I am still the same person I was when I was five.

It is the world, and not me, that is scary,
It's what's out there that frightens me,
Killings everyday, sometimes not one but five.

At this rate, humanity will be in utter chaos in five years or probably less, and that is scary, not me.


 - JN 12.14pm, 8/7/2016 (Friday) Home, Kelana Jaya

MN

syukur adalah namamu
maryam
yang membunuh segala
penyesalanku
sebelum sempat ia
tumbuh
sekilas kemungkinan ragu
dibakar
suaramu dengan mudah
menghilangkan
ketakukan maya
setiap segala
ilusiku

keberanian yang memelukku malam itu
adalah ilham wajahmu
memanggil
sekadar untuk aku mengenali
namamu;

maryam

- Jack

Selamat Hari Raya

We would like to take this opportunity to wish all those who celebrate, SELAMAT HARI RAYA! May you enjoy all the amazing food that is prepared specially for today and may you have a great holiday spent with family and friends. 
Berjoget-joget ke irama lagu
Bersantai kemari menjadi tetamu,
Berkunjung kawan dan keluarga,
Beria-ria Menyambut Hari Raya.

Makan rendang kita diundang,
Rendang enak dengan lemang,
Kuih raya dimakan sampai kenyang,
Raya disambut dengan yang tersayang

Kawab karib, kawan rapat,
Ajak juga kawan baru,
Menjamu selera, menunaikan hasrat,
Bersantai bernyanyi dengan merdu.

Selamat hari raya kami ucapkan,
Kepada semua kawan kawan
Serapat dianyam daun ketupat,
Makan sesama hubungan jadi erat.

 - Sherjoyen Wobustamy 2.31pm, 6/7/2016 (Tuesday) Here, There, Everywhere

JN: Change

NaPoWriMo Challenge Prompt Week 7:
Our prompt for Week Seven comes to us from Gloria Gonsalves, who challenges us all to write a tritina. The tritina is a shorter cousin to the sestina, involving three, three-line stanzas, and a final concluding line. Three “end words” are used to conclude the lines of each stanza, in a set pattern of ABC, CAB, BCA, and all three end words appear together in the final line.
The only thing constant in life is change,
Nothing in life is ever the same,
Not even if you wanted it to.

Don't try and beg it to,
Nothing is more stubborn than change,
It just refuses to stay the same.

Sometimes we need the change,
As a reminder that things are never the same,
so do the things we've always wanted to.

When you feel things aren't the same, be the change you want to see and make the best out of it.

 - JN 5.24pm, 5/7/2016 (Wednesday) Home, Kelana Jaya

SB: It's The Little Things

NaPoWriMo Challenge Prompt Week 7:
Our prompt for Week Seven comes to us from Gloria Gonsalves, who challenges us all to write a tritina. The tritina is a shorter cousin to the sestina, involving three, three-line stanzas, and a final concluding line. Three “end words” are used to conclude the lines of each stanza, in a set pattern of ABC, CAB, BCA, and all three end words appear together in the final line.

It is the little things,
That catch you unaware,
And make you smile.

This number 3 smile,
Because of these small things,
To which before I was unaware.

Completely unaware,
How much I could smile,
Over little things.

I guess I was unaware that it is the little things that will incite the biggest smile.

- SB 10.29am, 5th July 2016 Ghetto HQ

SY: Doors To My Heart-Room

NaPoWriMo Challenge Prompt Week 7:

Our prompt for Week Seven comes to us from Gloria Gonsalves, who challenges us all to write atritina. The tritina is a shorter cousin to the sestina, involving three, three-line stanzas, and a final concluding line. Three “end words” are used to conclude the lines of each stanza, in a set pattern of ABC, CAB, BCA, and all three end words appear together in the final line.

Every hoarder's dream and nightmare are found in their store room. This piece is based on 'My Store Room' from 'The Surrogate Friend' album by Francis Wolf

The door was closed,
Behind trinkets and memories,
What I kept, I thought I needed.
My storeroom of memories,
A reminder of all I had wanted and needed,
Hills of boxes that should be kept closed.
Occasionally I took what I needed,
Relived those days with my eyes closed,
Cherish sweet timeless memories, We all have storerooms of open and closed memories.
- SY 03:55H 6th May 2016 In My Heart-room

Piece of Junk

My life is a messed up junk filled with junk. I had a moment to check my life and see what kind of vessel I am and what I had allow to fill my vessel. Moved by a sharing from the Planet Shakers Conference 2016 - Awakening.
A vessel, smashed beyond recognition,
Broken with collapsible cracks,
Pieces that do not seem to fit anymore,
Grounded ash of porcelain powder,
It is a mere junk residing in the slums,
Defamed from it's former glory.
Tossed around by violent currents,
Drenched in rain of sorrows,
Carried away by hurricanes and twisters,
Dust of what was once known,
Scattered in altered dimensions,
Scavenged by scallywags and pirates.
I am in need to rest at Your docks,
Not tempted by the world's distractions,
You know my ins and outs,
The days of my future and past,
The currents of my thoughts,
And the storms of my heart.
The depths of my heart are evident,
You need not struggle to uncover,
It's every structure is known by You,
Only You can bring my soul to rest,
In desp…

Quarter Life Crisis

It's supposed to be the norm to have a crisis when you turn 25. My "crisis" didn't begin when I turned 25. It's been going on for a while but got amplified when I turned 25. People also say that once you turn 25 you are supposed to be more mature and wiser, I don't feel that way at all. I feel the same as I always have. I don't know if is a quarter life crisis but here is my version of it. 
They say when you turn twenty five you're supposed to have a crisis,
A milestone for surviving a quarter of a century in this world,
I'm hanging by a thread,
Does that count?

They say I am suddenly supposed feel older and more mature,
But I feel the same as I was yesterday and today,
I probably will feel the same way tomorrow,
I don't feel older or wiser, I feel jaded.

They say I should have accomplished something by now,
Done something to change the world somehow,
But I have done nothing of that sort,
Most days I fall short.

Everyone around me is doing som…