Awal malam lewat sarapan
    Lewat pagi mengawal diri
Kata bujang tiada harapan
    Namun cinta cuma mencuri

Kayak ikan, sambal ditumis
    Tebang kaktus tetap berduri
Sakit hati, pria berkumis
    Minah KL mana peduli

Yes-sirry! these fizzes fills my feet with
Everything- too delicate: a Sunny
Ladybird- too sweet: a honey's Honey
Lemon drink! And should we take a whiff
Of such- such snappy splashy splunkydashy;
We'll caress the truth of Yellow... Flashy!

I see the beauty flowers show;
imagine in the wild—
My oversight before July
had been a blindness mild.
The beetle brought her grandness by
erupting sight untold—

Forgiveness ties Regret in woe,
especially Today—
for shall a Foe toe through a Row,
express Itself not may.

And whence bewatched the timing spare,
Below should postings go—
but upside-down the Turtle's lair,
as only One would know.

If I were Irresponsible
I would Hallucinate—
To Dream for months if possible
and put away the Wait.

The many Persons doing hence
With Magic little screens—
Have thrown away to Consequence
their smallish sombre Scenes.

Again I face my post-it wall,
just me, and Solitude—
My steady stool, my Panadol,
my tissues, fully ****.

With me: my cookies, wire & soup,
and don't forget the Phone—
For as I sulk, and as I coop,
Posture, degrades the Bone.

So as I'm waiting patiently
for Marriage, Love and Wealth—
My Sickness independently
will sabotage my Self.

because
    forgetting
          family
              rites
becom­e
  fruitful
      from
      retrospect,

I am an owl
                      enduring nights
to linger
               and to introspect.

I had thought that I wanted a mug,
so I sought an adventure and dug!
"I'm just digging materials..." I shrugged:
"I'm just wanting enough to be chugged!"

But instead what I found was a Bowl,
from a 20th century ghoul.
On its side was inscripted in gold:
OH BEWARE I WAS CURSED AND THEN SOLD!

So I thought and I thinked and I thank,
and I brought my new thing to the bank!
But before I could speak I was yanked—
I had fallen but It had me tanked!

In a daze I was scrambling to piece,
all the shards that had broke, as the peace,
and to fix it all back in the leasts,
so that we don't all turn into beasts!

The Exponential Exercise
We do to reproduce,
Expires Earth Extremely nice
And we have no excuse.

Our children’s children’s children’s child
Will look back onto you,
With blacking slacking lacking wilds—
It’s all because of you.

What if I fell in love with You—
In the Middle of my Sleep—
A Wife beloved and proudly Husband too,
as We should Ought to be—

Some Favours given, Deeds performed,
Not again in mutual Dream—
The branching Faraways begin to Mourn—
if We should Never meet.

The Compliment Disaster
Has left us in a daze.
A kindness comes a monster
And'll only lose us face.

Not one of greatest poets
Has stemmed from nonsense such
Who clouds their skills to write it—
The words that comes out ****!

(Two to the Two) to the Two is
Two to the (Two to the Two) too!

The mum I'd like to free some time
to meet for CNY,
I think she really likes me, I'm
excited, don't know why!

I work all night until I'm bust
so I don't disappoint
the lady young at 40+
so I can get my coin!

The blueish painted butterflies
Renewed—but two—as soot cocoons.
Their tapping hues were kindly passed
To swingers (tutti) both attuned.
Too true, as dozenth roots of two
ingrained in Sound; no one immune
from the ever-known, ever-asked
Desire–Envy in the noon.

The scents of Illness fade again
As godly Schedules run—
Her victor's Streak will be obtained
To blaspheme selfly Funds—

Then She awaits the planning shared
Immutably discreet—
For only apt the Mammal pair
When Intellectually—

What if in comprehending us —
I find Reality
With unkindly beauty snug
In Compatibility —

Some countless plants entwining us
Identify the Pause
Our stridulations take to live —
Unseparating Us —

In the daylight, in the night,
My favourite reference in my hand.
In the net and in its might,
My favourite resource always can.

In my truthness, in my dome,
My favourite dictionary comes.
In my bedroom, in my home,
Yes, Wiktionary saves my ***!

"*** stop hoeing"

"I have,
       but my illness has faded,
                so i'll do other things,
like...

There's marriage and there's work to do,
there's plenty hobbies too!
There's studying, playing, writing, food!
And don't forget to ****!

I like to browse the Internet,
and check up on a friend.
To take a walk, or better yet,
to bulk-up, self-defend!

And reading etymology,
and entomology!
Biology, phonology,
even cocktomology!"

In my heart I am grateful for something,
and that something is antibiotics.
I have seen how it saves human beings
in the form of a lollipop lick!

I have seen in its powder and pill,
there're so many formations to take.
You can swallow or crush, even chill—
to be snuck in a popsicle cake!

But the but for our butts to be butted,
is called Antimicrobial Resistance.
It occurs when bacteria get superly bugged
whence it's late for any sort of industrial remittance...

Gate by gate
I counted eight
Shut they were
As gusts murmur

Only one
At night was run
So in I went
My body bent

It was fear
of Man and Djinn
I rinsed my hands
And wiped my feet

Ceiling torn
Cold still—walls worn
It was my fort
And my comfort

Because I could stop for Life—
She kindly stopped with me—
The carriage held not just ourselves
but all mortality.

We promptly drove; we knew of haste—
I didn't put away
my labour nor my leisure too
for Her civility.

We passed an industry where workers worked—
At midnight— in the room—
We passed the fields of gazing grain—
We passed a megamall—

Or rather— they passed us—
The cloud unhid a paintful ray—
For certain cotton made my clothes,
my plastics only pay—

We paused before a house that seemed
a miracle in the air—
Its use was scarcely visible:
A trick of tear and wear—

Since then— 'tis days and yet
feels longer than the aeon
we first surmised the turning sky
were toward Temporary.

For every poem you write about rich,
write ten more,
each about poor.

For every song you sing about rich,
sing one hundred more,
each about poor.

For every story you tell about rich,
tell one thousand more,
each about poor.

beneath a sweat of daily dew
uphold the structural
expanding skin of tiresome
forsought a warming

their tapak daras transform a flight
of lightly vacuous stream
my desire sweeps the channel
my eye diagrams

My ceiling chirps
like faraway cicadas.
There is an oil-stained
smell of cold sink soup.
I hear laughter and
kisses of other lives.

My mind prostrates
at magnificence.
I lie my body beneath
a shield from the winter—
the Incomprehensible
comes humility.

I ask of Buddha, and my God,
the problems of this world.
They give me stuck inside a þod—
with body hair uncurled.

The only thing accompanying:
the feather on the floor—
To know what lies beneath my wing,
to know to never bore.