deckstereo

da soundz pound ya strongly
as da muzak hitz ya ear
sensa-shanz are throbbin
from da front to da rear
all thanx to da dj
and his shimmerin gear
itz throbbin time lay-deh
pump-poundin ya head
letz get on each other
and make muzak instead



and ya groove
yea, now doan stop
and ya groove
yea, now doan stop
and ya groove
yea, now make-make-make sweet
lurve...



yea keep pushin and poundin
ya baby's gonna be comin
in nine months after ya humpin
ya'll get it on, ya think
ya damn high-falutin
well lissen up lissen up yo
ya get it on wid da skank ho
and when she blows dat when ya pop yo
dats when her bellys gonna start to grow...

the grass on the other side ...

the two women sit at the table
and smile at each other
because they know each other

and the one asks the other,
“How is your married life?”

to which the other replies,
“It is all very well, thank you...
and what about your single life?”

to which the one answers,
“It is also very well, thank you...”

and they laugh
and talk about their exploits

the married one talks about her husband
unicentric in nature, is her mind
focused on home and husband and child
and she laughs, as it is her life

and the single one wonders
if she had missed out on anything
on the security of a husband and a home
on the love of a child or children
on the continuing comfort of security

and the single one talks about her exploits
diffused in focus, she is bubbly
and she is hunted by men
as surely as she hunts the best of them

she laughs about the gifts she receives
and the time she spends juggling between her lovers
how they have on many occasions
been the game of her emotions

and the married one wonders
if she had made a mistake
if she had married the wrong man
if her prince charming had lost his way
and was looking out for her

and she wonders
if she could be free from this drudgery
this mind-numbing mundanity of repeating
everything everyday, in the same way
and if the sizzle in her life has given way
to a more benign matronly boredom...

the conversation stalls...
and the one and the other
sip their cappucino, and their mocha...
and all niceties are showing
without a single glint of their mind's churnings...

and life, as ever, goes on.

snivel

freely flighting away from thee;
nimbly nighting it out with thee;
blithely blighting the best of thee;
blissfully bedding the rest of thee.

in stupor i succumb to sobriety;
to ingenuity, i inveigle from infamy.



i leap across, to where you are... not.
the waters shimmer as i lift from rock.

all and sundry

all and sundry
shall not go hungry
with good husbandry;

consider the sky:
deeply mystified
and excoriated by lights.



and the soar of liquor
is this poem's sculptor
and its heady motor.



and relationships work
as they are advert-
ised, it's a circ-
ular prize in a pert-
inent lie.

til i breathe

there is a woman before me,
who, melancholy in her eyes, sighs.



no, i have not money,
to ease away the penury;
nor do i have sympathy,
to ease away the injury.

but then, a beckoning hand,
she looks earnest in the eye;
and hopes, perhaps, for a brief respite.

no, say i, i have no thing for you;
but the woman clings, sobs, and says

i have no friend but one:
my loneliness i find,
everyplace i try to run from it.
do not now let me languish
in this wrenching loneliness!
for now i have found
in you the crown and the fount

fool! say i, see you not?
am i not like you
in loneliness craved?

ah, said she --
but for that.
'tis a sure thing:
when we find each other
our loneliness shall flutter
and in a brief respite: vanish.

ah.
i see...

feet in gruel

what expectations are we expected to meet?
to be the mat beneath the feet?

they say: to be kind, is to be cruel;
and to be cruel, is to be kind.

much so, has the rice turned to gruel?
is the gruel, so turned, nice?

a little bird asked me today,
why do i fly? why do you stay?

i told him, i would love to fly...
i need not stay, and he need not fly.

and so beneath our feet we find,
the elusive thing (the peace of mind)

when we let go of everything
our disappointments lose their sting.

Harum

Hanim, seorang Minah.
Dulu Harum, sekarang Murah.
Dulu ia berharap...
Sekarang, ia parah.

Hanya dengan cermin
dapat kita lihat diri
kita yang sebenar.

melayu, melayu?

the franchise

i couldnt stand to stay another day,
i simply had to go my way.
this house is hard to live in,
and the walls they silently remind
of how and what we used to play.

i have tried my best to dye my hair,
i have tried my best to take you there.
there, in elysian fields, where peace murmurs ever;
there in forever, where forever is for ever.

the sniggering smiles shall leave us be:
we the disenfranchised,
they the ugly range of the human franchise.

so we deal in life?
to be realistic,
the time is short,
and the hope is mystic.

optimistic.

i see me

like another me,
yet not like me,
she stares at me,
and only me.

who might she be,
who won't let me be?
this femme banshee,
who silent, sees.

this creature strange,
like a leech deranged,
sticks to the window pane,
and does not change.

the privy of sleep

a good night's sleep is my privilege:
a luxury i can scant afford.
they say, you sleep more when you're at my age.
but what to do when you are bored?

the dreams we dream, like misty realms.
a nightmare's scream will overwhelm
my partner's slumber deep
and from her mouth, a scream shall leap.

pop your stress

twirl me on

"Speak softly, Love" --
the singer crooned,
as he watched the crowd
shuffle earnestly,
the aging bodies trying
to rekindle the warmth
of a lost nostalgia.



and ever, the bodies twirld,
the swirling colours
melting into a hazy forgetfulness.



sixteen to sixty?
pretense of sympathy?
or a flame, that never perishes?

the mite

to various men unknown,
the seeds of itch are sown,
and when the seeds are grown,
the symptoms are full-blown.

groan!!!

kau dan daku

mengejar debu
hari demi hari
sehingga pilu
ya pilunya daku!

harapan mengalir
seperti air
dan segala harapan
menjadi cair.

instinctive

instinctive as the sun,
when the moon begins to rise,
so does my instinct tell me,
"Hide! My master, Hide!"

for men they come with guns,
in holiness they hunt;
be they giant or a runt,
they kill to out the brunt.

and now the end is near;
tell me: where to hide?
can they find me, smell my fear?
would they kill a man untried?

like ash

this life is slowly crumbling,
to crumbs that numb, so humbling -
to realize that all our petty grumbling
will end in nought, and we, tumbling
to the abyss of an unknown oblivion.

holed up in the home,
surrounded (barricaded) by old tomes
that speak only of dust.
to what life have i been induct-
ed? to what end will i be instruct-
ed? when shall my free spirit roam?

meekly mocking

meekly, mocking -- i mock me;
yes me indeed, and not thee,
thou'rt too good for me to speak of,
too high above this niggardly earth,
too virtuous even to breathe courteous simple words to scroundrels such as i...

for after all, thy name art carved in stone,
and thou'rt perched firmly on thy pedestal;
arms eternally poised in dramatic gesture.

who's to blame me, if i vehemently say --
you have a heart of stone?

me dad and me

http://home.graffiti.net/kevinkoosk/pix/new.html

life could be

life could be perfect
if we should so elect
to accept its defects
and choose not to reject.
not now, nor ever. to impact
society, learn to accept
the difference. We act
like we do, but we don't.

and it's not just a question of fact.

the distinct instinct

the human instinct
is quite distinct
from precinct to precinct:
we know your sphinct-
er will pass all strict
testing. you cannot convict
a man who's merely linked
by a stain of ink.
that's a proof so infinit-
simally small, like a blink
being equated to a thing
that has a familiar ring.

advoc8

the frank truth about advocates
is that they start by instigat-
ing the client, infuriat-
ing him to boiling point, and lat-
er getting him to litigate.

the fact does not mitigate
the wrongness of the crime creat-
ed.

my terse tense

i am terse
when i insert
myself into her ... words.

intense,
not incensed:
nor will my tense-
ness ever dispense
the need for verb-al defense.

to be terse --
is to be cer-
tifiably cursed.
one sparks the interest
but fails to sustain the words.

i am with her, now, lost
and happy, to be tossed
about, aimless -- no moss.
don't want to know the cost,
(the price of being lost)
so help me be my most!

help me, be ... lost-er.
(is there such a word?)
no matter! i still have all my lustre.
just like a smokin' lobster,
that burns red in hot water.

the imaginary frown

each time we leave her¹ house,
i feel her mother's heavy frown.
thinking perhaps, that i would pounce
on her lovely flower, and proceed to pound
the heaving, luscious mounds.
but i am no such louse.
no! i shall keep my trous-
ers on.

----------------------
Note (updated: 24.2.2007):

1. This rhyme is purely fictional. I put myself in the shoes of a fictional character that I read in a short story.

equality of feeling

can a person love untruly?
such a heart, must be unruly?

if she loves not truly, will
the world stop, end, and stand still?

for her, my heart i will gladly
efface, and all my ambitions
shirk for her beauty.

“i love you true” - but it is untrue
her pity is no thrill.

for “i love you” - it is true
but the loving, is not.

awkward mush

a gnawing suspicion, of being in love-
could it be so? my blood circulation improves
each time we meet. you spring my mood
into cheerier days. and i munch my food
with mucho gusto. bravo! a flower
will i pluck, to tempt you as a lover
tempts his beloved; an independent rush
of happiness, joy; the face is flush
with gladness apparent - otherwise known as a blush.