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.

Lost
in the thick green forest
stuck
and can't get through it
to get out
i don't know where i am
don't know what time it is
don't even know who i am
anymore
can't dial the right numbers
can't get through to anyone
finally when i did get through
the person on the other end
would be a family or friend
who sees me as an unknown  
stranger
i think this is a conspiracy
i might have been deleted from the regime
of the human society.

They're waving to me:

children in the express train --


which I just have missed.

I'm like an overgrown child
in this world
who keeps bumping
and stumbling
I've tried to change too
its emotional intelligence they say
so i put on a mask
and learn to walk smooth
learn to speak in an confident way
but then my true personality
would soon be exposed
becuz the mask makes me breathless
i start to despise the pretense
so I'm back to square one again
and keep banging my head
the world is too big and tall
it's supposed to be able to accommodate
all kind of people
the first thing you need to do
is grow up
but the only thing left is
i am standing still
i am not afraid anymore
of being alone
i just want to pursue
my own sun and moon.

I always feel
where there are many people
love can easily happen
every meeting of eyes
will touch the soul
it makes you tremble
on the day of Valentine's day
the city is ecstatic and
in a kind of turmoil
the bars are full
coffee shops are out of seats
cheesy hotels are out of beds
the night is charged with sensuality
lovers embracing on a street corner
moist lips inhaling cheap love
the draft of it is
bouquets of fake roses
love codes sent out by cell phones
illusory lovers on the network
obsessively typing those exciting words
tapping and clicking and fiddling with
incredible flirtation
love was initially innocent and lovely
but then came the flowers
the chocolates
the money and power
fairy tales and fables
even a wolf can fall for a sheep
love has changed its tone
soul has changed its note
lips have changed colors
before the gold of the player
the voice of some crooner
is floating in the sound store
the same cry is heard
from thousands of hearts
"Baby please come back to me"
every minute and every second
becomes a burning thirst
middle aged lady on the last train
carefully holding her gift
holding with a certain devotion
smile on the corner of her mouth
seems to be telling a story of
romance that has not grown old
yet.

they say the lone wolf dies
yet the pack survives.
it is the strength of a whole and it solely that can mend for sturdy fangs and foreign bites
of ill-fated violence.
regrettable.

and although they say the pack survives, what is of the lone wolf?
is he fated to be swallowed whole by the jaws of his most trustworthy companions?
to be crucified as a slave and mistreated as a martyr?

they say the lone wolf dies
and his carcass serves as a reminder of what can be forgotten so easily
through the years he can be no more
and the pack will be, still

they say the pack survives upon the feeble shoulders of the lone wolf
feeding its ego and stomach
praying for another to idolize like the most precious of waste.
after one comes another
and time does not make saints out of victims
nor does the pack which thrives and feasts and tears limb to limb deities and sinners alike.

cruelty is no stranger to the pack
it is a principle to build community upon
and everyone relishes being the predator
until they too are made into the prey.

nobody ever remembers the lone wolf
nor do they remember whom he was before crucifixion
what they do remember is to never be pushed into such a place

the struggle never ends
and when another falls into their godless clutches
you'll thrive and feast and rejoice
and find yourself thinking
at least it’s not me

Does life even have a purpose
Or has society given it meaning
I don't remember being born with a checklist
But society saw my gift and wrote my destiny

I try to elude it, but it always finds me
Is free-will a myth and is success the only deity
Don’t get me wrong I’m not complaining
I’m not the recalcitrant teen who rebels to revel
I’m the one who’s lost at the intersection of fate and destiny

God decides your fate they told me
They told me there’s a god inside me
And the fate I’ve chosen is poles apart my destiny
I am coerced into craving this utopic life idealised by society
Who should I pick, who knows better?
Society that evolved over eternity or a teen just past puberty

In these moments I turn to love to help me
I think of my parents and do as they tell me
Love demands selflessness and that will drive me
My purpose on this earth is to help everyone besides me

I’ve got arms long enough to hold the whole world
Well, not really, but my arms are quite long
Which means that if I don’t hold it in my arms
But hold it at arm’s length
The world is remote enough for me to feel safe
And if I cross my arms over my chest
The barrier is strong enough for me to feel protected
And if I touch the back of my, also, long neck with my long fingers
The caress is reassuring enough for me to feel calm
It’s a shame, really, that I don’t use my arms to benefit the world
Because I find that when I hold on to people
My grip is a little bit stronger and a little bit sweeter than I expected
Enduring through time, space, and hurts
And I do feel guilty about it
I imagine the first man who wanted to move to the moon or the man who invented fences
Must have felt some form of this guilt
And the first man who was so disconnected from the human race
He needed to touch his chest to reassure himself
That beating hearts exist
Must have lamented, like I do
Who, in Sauron’s name, started this?

What scares me through this dark forest?

It is not the dark,
Nor the wet socks,
Nor the treacherous rocks in the way
Nor the rustling of grass unpaved
Nor the occasional shriek of an owl
Nor the cold, nor the starvation
Nor the bats and insects and crawling creatures
Nor the unknown beyond horrid imagination
Nor the screams of sorrow's victims
Nor the silence, or the sheer loneliness

The only fear is existing
Painfully drifting
Having nowhere to go
No journey to bleed for,
Having to watch the forest burn
As hollers of delight emerge from monstrous look-alikes,
Siblings turned beasts of false pretenses and heavy machinery

And the more it burns, the more colorful it gets,
The more join in, the louder it grows, they're having a blast!
Till the smoke touches every molecule in the air,
Till we all suffocate in a carbon monoxide high
Forever frozen in a grin of painful ecstasy,
And the forest turns to ashes, awaiting a kinder generation,
A kinder species, perhaps.