So many doors
tightly closed
the need for more clothing and food
can't be kept out
it's a small hamlet
by the river
when a man stamps his foot
the whole village wobbles
a slap from a woman
and the whole village is flooded with tears
a cough in the dark
reveals bricks of secrets
two old stone mills
like an old couple who
have worn out their lives
wind leaks through four walls
a candle light dim and faint
not a synonym for romance and cozy
but luxury
when they can't afford kerosene
they eat, wash, get in the blankets
before the candlelight goes out
remainder of the light is only
for the maternal needlework
a curve creek
clear and lucid
when catching fish and mud-skippers
they become as happy as the water
joyful shrieks waft
in the smoke from the cooking stove
these scenes which can only be
returned to if time regressed are
very much alive in memory
they just didn't grow with me
many years later the warren
became a rustic retreat
days of the dirt and soil
became a wandering cloud
the stubborn local sounds
suddenly emerge from baseless thoughts
the mushed corn
the yam gruel
carrots and cabbage
feeding the dream
the mountains, the water, the people
the kindly kampung
the birthmark
of that era.

There were days
when I just know,
that it is not any better
than the last summer
or even the first
day of this year.

if I stay within this
circle of fear,
and waiting for the
blizzard to be out of here.

I will forever remain
a raindrop, instead of thunder.

and tell me
how it feels like
returning to the suburbia
walking past couples
eating chilly popsicles
from each others’ hands
while kids fall on the pavements
not a worry, not a melee
as the first full moon
overlooking us
beyond the double pulses
built at the epicentre
witnessing all of the
wild, harsh river flows
that taught us life
I am not the melodramatic aristocrat
you are the forgetful, envious plutocrat
will you make it through January
when I still linger with December?

you would know that only answer.

The red I see on these cheeks
is made from the very same red on your sleeves
a piercing bravery indeed,
a significant tribute to weep

The blue I see on this sky sheltering us
is brighter than the shades of blue you were feeling
when leaving your loved ones to the battlefield,
but the sorrow and grief of seeing your falling
make us stands with unity,
brought us together like beautiful autumn leaves

The yellow I see in this sparkling sunlight
is the same yellow,
the very kind of glow
that you put on our faces with your upbringing,
for you marched your way in
with peace instead of calamity

The white I see on this coat I'm wearing
is made out of purity and safety you gave us
Your sacrifice, your woeful plight
is the reasons for our independence,
the very reason that make us invincible

I'll protect you of your hopes and will from being taken ill
And in turn of your treacherous path, a one risky feat,
rest assure comrade,
this sacred ground is still as lucky
you can forever and always rest peacefully.

I am fixing the racetrack
where all the thoughts there
have turned black,

reclaiming my isolated dignity
retraining every part of thoughts
connecting every incomplete dots

which will lead me to the adjacent poles
that are satisfied with their own nature
science taught me nothing but
selective decision and sense of entrapment
whisper to your pillow before
every intentional breath

“am I just a vehicle to every unidentifiable selfishness or am I just living up to my own means?”

the love

is for us to hold in high affinity,
and to be protected like our sanity.

The last time you made contact with a living thing was over two weeks ago. An earthworm was splayed out, almost dried out of life on the ash-covered ground, wiggling once—its last.

Kuala Lumpur is now stripped down to being exactly that, mud. Earth drowned in what's left of the dark grey thunderstorm that hit the night before.

You're walking int the middle of the open road, littered left and right with burnt metal and oil. Ahead of you, nothing but yellow dust.

Just when your knees were about to give out from days of walking, running, limping, chasing the remnants of the city, you see from amidst the fog, a movement. Coming perfectly into view, a truck drags its limp tyres and tangles its loose bits.

A familiar tune suddenly fills the bare and flat atmosphere,
'mat kool, mat kool, kawanku
mari kita ikut, mat kool,
main, main, selalu
syoknya, syoknya ada mat kool'

when you asked me
for the only direction
to the campsite of holy Aurora
I fed you with the temptation
and when you laid the blanket
I made you the bed instead.

I was already underneath the lake,
and I extended my hand to you,
waiting for you to realise
that there is nothing at stake,
and there is no wrong in being true.

when you talked to me
about the fiery, empty sunset
there were devils that linger and smile
I painted clouds and rainbows
for you to be sheltered from
partook in a deep sigh and grows.

you are awakened
by the smell of the brewed coffee
filled with our joy and contentment
you are no longer in a daze
forever buried in the strong aftertaste.

stay within my sight,
and touch me with all your might.