The Muruku Murmurations

In this day & age, what it means to be Malay has been re-defined and warped by all sorts of twisted organizations represented by even twisted people. And yet, we're constantly reminded to "fight for our race" and "remember our roots". This goes out to all the Malays out there who feel suppressed, oppressed, but in their hearts of hearts are still very proud to be Malay.  Aku Melayu. Walaupun aku ditindas oleh universitas yang dipenuhi dengan bangsaku sendiri, Kerana ku tidak berbahas dalam bahasa yang disenangi,  Aku masih diingati, Yang aku ini, Melayu. Walaupun ibuku dihina,  Kerana berbangsa Cina,  Dan dituduh haram kerana pernah makan babi, Aku masih diingati, Yang aku ini, Melayu. Aku ditegur tidak menutup aurat, Dan dikatakan tidak sopan sangat, Kerana cara percakapan ku kasar, Dan kelakuan tidak ayu, Aku tetap diingati, Yang aku ini, Melayu.  Walaupun bangsaku menghina LGBT, Kakakku yang mak nyah tidak

Eyes closed, as if deep in a wakeful slumber Here I stand in tune with everything; This feeling - so subtle, so soft and gentle Yet absolute and whole. Eyes opened, gently receiving the Light I looked around me in a wakeful daze; The trees, the rocks, the ground, the skies, the mountains and morning mists Feeling so utterly puny, thinking if I even existed “Am I of the bounded or unbounded?”, I asked myself in a drunken state of awe The boundaries within me, broken, My sense of proximity, shattered. Eyes closed again, hands gently pressed against my chest There I found a deep-seated longing within; The desire of wanting to shed this exclusivity and to be included Into everything and nothing all at once Just like a drop of water, longing to merge once more with the ocean.. - The Pseudo Poet

Relationships are difficult to start, maintain and end. Some times it is better that people have what they have and move on their separate paths after that. This piece is inspired by 'Wake Up Sally' from ' The Surrogate Friend ' album by the one and only Francis Wolf. Good night lil Sally, Glad we enjoyed tonight, Before you know it, You will be gone tomorrow. Sleep lil Sally, Don't talk to me all night, We have done our deeds, I got you smiling just right. Wake up lil Sally, Dawn has come, Dreams have gone, This isn't your bed anymore. C'mon lil Sally, It's time for you to go, You know you can't stay, Don't ask me again tomorrow. Goodbye lil Sally, It's best that we go our own ways, Don't touch me or hold me, You very well know what I will say. Take care lil Sally, I'll quietly miss you, This you will never know, Along with the side of me I will never show. - SY 21:04H 2nd August 20

I was given the phrase "footsteps at the door" as my #SemiGodsUnited assignment. That phrase reminded me of back when I was a kid and my parents would always come to check on me to see if I was asleep. I would be reading a book under the covers with my brother's torchlight and when I heard their footsteps, I would quickly turn off the light and hide the book under my pillow. Sometimes I got caught but they'd just give me five more minutes.  She was heading to bed, But she heard stiffled giggles A wave of emotions washed over her, And she couldn't help but smile. She tiptoed her way to the door, Pressed her ear against it, Silence was all she heard, Her pudgy feet gave her away again. She knocked on the door, A tiny voice said "come in" As she pushed the door open, What greeted her was a big goofy grin. "Off to bed", she said, The little girl hid her face, She could see that her daughter was not tired, So she gave her five m

In celebration of International Women's Day 2016. "One day I will..." As children this was our mantra The world Was a treasure chest And we explorers of the briny deep The sizzling Sahara The mysterious Congo Travelling to China on dragons Discovering deep space In fanciful rockets And stars we marked with our names Planets like jewels: Purple and gold and pink and blue And nothing – nothing at all Was impossible Not even math. Not science. Not art. As we grew, age and adults Leached the colour from our stars The treasure chest no longer bejewelled Just a tin box with thorny words And broken promises And we were told, You can’t The mysteries of science and math Are not for you. Art history favours men. We were taught that planets were conquered Not by women but by men As if the twist of an extra X chromosome Changed our intelligence or our capabilities The lucidness of our thoughts Or the wideness of our dreams. Impossible, they tell us:

I was taking my ablution for the terawih prayers when I first had the idea for this poem. The idea that all Muslims from all these different walks of life, committing sins big & small every day, coming to one place to ask for forgiveness & to pray to the Almighty for better things, truly captured me in that moment. It isn't being done justice in this poem, but it is an experiment for me in consolidating spirituality & poetry.  Face. The remnants of the alluring make up,  Put onto entice and tease,  Eyelashes to bat at wandering eyes,  And red lipstick to amplify a "come hither" smile. Mouth. Gargling out the words of hate, The off-hand racist remarks, And the gossip that is questionable at best, As well as the mutterings under her breath.  Ears. Washing away the untruths, That were indulged over lunch, And the eavesdropping of conversations, Out of blatant curiosity. Arms. Holding a person close,  Who should have be

Kyoto Spring Sometimes it rains hard. Sometimes the sun makes us gay. Sometimes it snows soft. Camelia Come sniff what I saved. A dried camellia I picked from Izumo’s hills. Riceball Lesson We made sankaku -triangle onigiri. Oh! - labor for food! Cherry Petals Cherry petals swirl when the wind from the north blow. Some fell on my hair. Sunny Spring Cherry blossom’s branch fell down swiftly on the ground. Howling wind, welcome! Us On the gathered snow, How good to flow together. Like we are water. - Dumay

If you and I had a chance to live out our wanderlust, it would probably be like this. But first I would have to find you. Hold my hand and look into my eyes, Stare at them and hold your gaze, Let the wind gush through your hoodie, Ruffle the fringe across my face. Let's discover the world together, Explore the fantasies we read in stories, Define our adventure with memories, Take our senses on a journey. Arise by the cove of the river, Refreshed by morning's mist and dew, Awaken our souls in the morn, Taste sunrise on our pasty skin. Embark on trails that were left behind, Surrounded by prime forestry, Listen to the symphony of nature's orchestra, As daylight regresses to dusk. Take a deep breath and inhale, The salty bayou breeze by the sea, Feel the grit the sand beneath your feet, Bask gloriously in the rays of sunset. Be stranded in luscious green meadows, Plain, stripped beneath the stars, Nothing but constellations as light,

Someone posted a picture of a rainbow on Facebook and as I was looking at it, I started  to think about the colours and how I would associate them with you.  Red, the colour of the shirt you were wearing, When you told me that it was me you wanted to marry. That look in your eyes, It gave me a warm feeling inside. Orange, the colour of the band you wear on your hand, You've had it since the day we met, It was given to you by someone special, The way you light up when you talk about it is beautiful. Yellow, one of your favourite colours, The colour of the Bumblebee figurine on your dashboard, That smile when I gave it to you, It's one of the things I love most about you. Green, the colour of the trees that surrounded us, When we took that walk in the park, We stopped to play with the dogs that walked past, I didn't mind getting bitten by mosquitoes. Blue indeed is the warmest colour, The colour of your bed spread, The one we laid underneath, On that

I long to know,   But never show,   If you'd want me more   Than skin deep. I'll do my face,   Perform with grace,   Because you don't know me more   Than skin deep. Though you profess   Not to care less   About anything   Not skin deep, I see,   Like day,   Your walk is stayed   Whenever beauty passes by your way. I am not sure   I could endure   A scrutiny more   Than skin deep; But even more   I do abhor   To be the one you adore,   Despite knowing me   Just skin deep. Is what you feel predicated on a shell - Core interchangeable with anybody else? Alas, I did not hasten to forewarn   (Because the spell felt too lovely to be wrong)   How I wish you had the sight     to see     how, in order to be right - love should be blind. - Amelia

Inspired by a story heard at an iftar gathering during Ramadhan, about two students getting caught making out behind a vending machine. Young love sometimes blooms in odd places.  We stood, Us two, Face to face, Behind the vending machine. You came close, Your nose almost touching mine, And despite myself, I smiled. I examined your eyelashes closely, Trying my best not to blink, Because your eyes, Were locked on mine. You put an arm, Around my waist, Pulled me closer, And our lips met. I pushed against you, Forging a deeper connection, Of our soft skin, And our souls. And thus began, Our juvenile love story, Behind the Milo, And chrysanthemum tea. - SB 4.12am, 14th July 2016 TMS HQ

Many a times, Love and Lies go hand in hand in a partnership. A lyric inspired piece based on 'Love and Lies' from The Surrogate Friend  album by Francis Wolf. Little lies Told with love, Over and over again, In the same bed we lie. Loving you, In my head, Looking at you again, With lies in your eyes. Look away, Lie with me, Love me long again, Turn your back to stay. And love, And lie again, Lies and loving you, That's just what we do. - SY 11:41 8th July 2016 Pandan Mewah 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.

This is in no way written to insult all the poets out there. I think you guys are amazing. I just have always felt I am not a poet, or at least not yet. People say that you need to write a certain way to be called a poet, but that's not true. It doesn't matter what you write about, your words matter. Don't let anybody tell you otherwise.  I am not a poet, I do not write about politics, And how it makes me sick. I am not a poet, I do not write about global warming, And how its effects are getting pretty alarming. I am not a poet, I do not write about feminism, And how hard women have to fight against chauvinism. I am not a poet, I do not write poems that will blow your mind, And ones that are perfectly rhymed. I am not a poet, I write about what I know but there is very little that I know,  And so my verses are not diverse.  I am not a poet, I write about heartbreak and love, Or at least what I know of it. I am not a poet i

Not you, You turn people off, With your loud voice, Your undainty undaintiness, Your brash-fuck-you attitude, Not you. People don’t want A woman that speaks her mind, A woman that says it like it is, A woman that is secretly insecure, Of losing you, A woman that will battle a thousand miles, To be there when you need her, Because you are a woman that doesn’t hide behind a mask of makeup, And no, they don’t want that, Not you. They don’t want you, Your shrilly voice singing along to all the songs on the radio, Your chinky eyes, Or your constantly irritated nose, Not you, But you, With your loud-fuck-yous, your morning sinuses, your hard punches that actually hurt, But you, With your beautiful voice when you sing, your loud laugh, your sideway glances, your fiery stance, your secure insecurities, Your readiness to burn the world down to make me safe, Only you, I don’t need you saying no to me when I need being said no to, I don’t need to hold you t

I was thinking about the convergence of TV show characters, and how the plot would be different if two characters were to have gotten together to create a super-couple (or in this case, non-couple). This is to Ross from Friends, and Robin from How I Met Your Mother.  You are the Ross to my Robin. This unconventional pairing,  Of TV characters from different shows, That in a perfect fandom,  Would fit together in all its imperfections. You are the quirky intelligence, With odd little habits,  Like a serious attention to detail,  And an intensity when you look into my eyes. I am the closed off romantic,  That allows small doses of glee,  To escape me when you make me smile,  But remembers that all this is just a feelingless facade.  This arrangement works on so many levels, Because Ross doesn't need a dainty girl, Or a brainless blonde tart,  But someone a little bit more challenging from a different TV network. And Robin is sick of th

Comets come by every once in millennia or decades, so rare and full of marvel. Not to be confused with a falling meteor. What would I give to ride with a comet? Will you be my shooting star? In sight but distantly far, So brisk that our chances just pass. A comet that soars in it's course, You won't drift or wander with remorse, Orbiting by the tranquil galaxies. My ball of dust, fire and ice, Time and space have you splintering, But for lightyears your hardy core lasted travelling. Prancing across the canvas of shimmering splendor, Lighting up the skies like a rescue flare, You outshine the twinkling stars. Hold me in my breath mesmerised, Your fiery trail like a chariot, Orion has not got you defeated. As you stop by the Milky Way, I'll let you carry my quiet dreams, Across the interstellar far away. Then come back years later, Grazing Earth's atmosphere, Whisper to me,"I'll be back soon my dear." - SY 1

I read this thought catalog post about how in order to let go of something, you need to list down what you want to let go. I decided to incorporate that and the 5 stages of grieving to write this piece.  Five, I want to stop waiting. I need to stop telling myself that one day you would come back. I want to stop thinking that all this is just a bad dream and all I have to do is wake up, and things would be back to the way they were. I want to not associate 'home' with you. I don't want to think of you as my safe place anymore. I want to not associate anything with you. Four, I want to be able to say that we gave it a try and it didn't work out. I want to get rid of this nagging feeling at the back of my head that says you didn't even try. I want to not blame you. I want to not resent you. I want to let go of my anger towards you. I need to come to terms with the fact that we are not meant to be, and that’s ok. Three, I want you to not be my biggest 'wh

You can read At The Ledge by SB here .  You can't stand there forever, On the edge of the ledge. You can choose to back away, but where will that lead you? Scared and lonely, maybe. You don't have to fall, little girl. You can just slowly come down. It will be steep. You can take it real slow, Carefully. One step at a time. If no one greets you at the bottom, That's okay, You came down whole. You will be welcomed by your love for yourself. Because you made it down there with love in your heart. Rejoice if someone is there to meet you. Take the love he offers you. - Slac 

Poetry inspired by a full moon atop a rooftop bar.  Oh La Luna, You shine as bright as a diamond, Better than Rihanna, Your warm white light radiant, Over the city with yellow street lights, At every gradient. La Luna you beauty, Up high in the sky, Like an all-seeing Eye, Yet even when shrouded by the clouds, Your radiance stands out, Loud & proud. La Luna to which people sing, Drunken songs and soft hymns, Some even compose lullabies, Or they try, Only to get by. La Luna tell me what you hear, In the middle of the night, When you are a listening ear, To the heartbroken & the woeful, Who are hopeful. La Luna please could you say, Tell that wayward man to go away, And the traveller with the wild heart, To try and just stay, For more than a day. La Luna it is time now to say goodnight, As you oversee some rowdy bar fights, Pretty soon you will turn out your light, And disappear for a while, Out of sight. - SB 10.53pm, 21st June 2016 T

NaPoWriMo Challenge Prompt Week 11: "Today, I challenge you to write a poem in which you closely describe an object or place, and then end with a much more abstract line that doesn’t seemingly have anything to do with that object or place, but which, of course, really does. I think of the “surprise” ending to this James Wright Poem as a model for the effect I’m hoping you’ll achieve. An abstract, philosophical kind of statement closing out a poem that is otherwise intensely focused on physical, sensory details." Let's start at the 4-way traffic light. Each intersection bringing with it a new possibility, Of something familiar. Go straight down Jalan Bahagia. There'll be that Shell & Petronas on the right, And the hidden road to the backlane of the LRT station. Go further down and to your left. Where you will find yourself in SS6, The land of small Giant, Syed Bistro, Kedai Sebelah & Energy Fitness. Go straight all the way & you'll hi

NaPoWriMo Challenge Prompt Week 11: "Today, I challenge you to write a poem in which you closely describe an object or place, and then end with a much more abstract line that doesn’t seemingly have anything to do with that object or place, but which, of course, really does. I think of the “surprise” ending to this James Wright Poem as a model for the effect I’m hoping you’ll achieve. An abstract, philosophical kind of statement closing out a poem that is otherwise intensely focused on physical, sensory details." Melodies that transcends through the airwaves, Floating in between the molecules, Carried with the breeze to wherever, Rhythmic repetitions like echoes in the caves, Perfection in a cord that breaks all the rules, Theme songs made for every endeavor. Weaved together by lyrics and melodies, Tales about life, death, birth, love and hate, Diverse in its beats as they are in genre, Pure expression of joy and tragedies, Articulate in it's messages

Night lights give us comfort to sleep just as how we go driving through the city streets deep into the wee hours of the morn. This poem is inspired by 'Driving In The Night' from 'The Surrogate Friend' album by Francis Wolf. Well, let's get hyped and fired, Then chill and get wired, Cruising through the city streets, Jamming with the hip hop beats. Tar roads and gravel, All the same as we travel, Arrows and painted lines, Traffic lights and bill board signs. Past the graffiti and kelundings , Savour all the subtle things, Let go driving in the night, Set on park beneath the bright lights. - SY 21:41H 29th April 2016 TMS HQ