WORDS
Words are meant not for truth
but for deception and self-justification
the most used and refined human tool
the product of the highest civilisation.

Be a master of this art
all else you can set aside then
the crown of life you will wear
you will be the leader of all men.

PRISONERS
Men are born free
but everywhere are in chains
thus wrote Rousseau--I take the point further-
upon themselves they inflict pains

in being prisoners of time
which with a sword of Damocles hangs
over every head and herds them into closed barns
where they sigh and lament in silent pangs

of anguish with no hope to be free
they have lost the will to fight
to regain that which was once their heritage
and fundamental right

men are born free
but by the loss of freedom they are condemned
time is the slayer--would they wake up
some day and look upon time with contempt?

FLOWERS ARE FALLING INTO A FLOWING STREAM

Flowers are falling into a moving stream
Each petal tells a tale of youth’s beauty and innocence lost
How little does youth know what the poets have written-
‘Those who love deepest do suffer most’.

Youth says---‘Purest love and sweetest dreams are mine
They shall never fade away-so my heart tells me
Time shall not my joys and pleasures ravage
In the bowers of love I will abide eternally’.

How harsh and merciless is  time
Nothing remains the same forever
Even love knows pain and sorrow
Even the most beautiful dreams disappear.

Flowers are falling—petal by petal
Into the heartless moving stream
Oblivious to love’s lamentation
And the loss of its fondest dream

'I'll  save the world'
  Millions have said this before
  'Serve mankind selflessly
  Give, give, give more'.

   I am just an ordinary man
   With a burden of my own
   I leave to others to usher in a brave new era
   Quietly and unobtrusively I live alone.

MY BOYHOOD DAYS
        Klang# then was a sleepy and backward town
      But ronggeng was the highlight of the night
      A dance with a lovely wanita** cost 30 cents
      It brought Malayan men's emotions to the supreme height.

      Mum said: study hard, ronggeng is for grown-up men
      Don't let me catch you  in the amusement park watching
      Immoral men dance with coy and seductive ronggeng girls
      Unless you want dad to give you a good beating!

Poetry
is not clever well-stringed words
nor about rhythm and rhyme
images and metaphors
and all the craftsmanship that brings
the parts together--
it's more, much, much more--
poetry is subtle and has a secret life and pulse of its own
its home is a mysterious hideout
which so few could ever discover
and turn it into music to soothe the heart-

I have struggled all my life
only to end up saying-
I am still searching for the key
to unlock its mystery-
I write poetry but am not a poet-
perhaps never could be one.

TOMORROW
I'll be there
but never the same me
I evolve
to live I 've to be free
tomorrow
only moments which unfold
I'll be there
I'm a new person--have discarded the old