Twenty Minutes for Me

These flashes,

Cross above

My head,

From the passing Monorail,

It was never 5

That frequent.

Twenty minutes will do,

Watching this city,

In hustle.

Nonetheless, it is 10

Difficult so to immerse

Despite people running,

Shoving, shouting, panting,

Sweating, Syncopating footsteps, chewing crumbs;

In this bustling rush hour. 15

These flashes,

In my head,

Playing

Dead-mute;

Sunken 20

Under the hustle

Of morning rush.

Twenty minutes

Will do

Listening to 25

The morning rushes

In this beating city.

Now,

The Monorail that passes,

From above, 30

The concrete bridge,

I heard,

The deafening march

Chasing nigh o’ time.

Unable to 35

Freeze the time,

For this sudden

Membrance.

Twenty more minutes,

Just the time 40

For me to

Replay,

Your glimmering pair of eyes,

With your angelic smirk,

And your ghost, 45

That had harried

Here before.

This solid bench

Here,

Have waited you 50

Before,

In my beloved city.

This morning,

A hushed morning,

Despite the city running, 55

Shoving, shouting, panting,

Sweating, Sealing jaws, chanting stress;

Heralding the early rush.

My beloved city,

Buried is your smile, and 60

Your memories,

Behind these glossy walls

Caught in the clouds.

This morning-rise,

Hush and mush, 65

As I only would

Hear

My heart beating

The morning rush.

Translation for "Dua Puluh Minit Yang Dipinta"

Dua Puluh Minit Cuma Yang Dipinta

Imbauan-imbauan yang merentasi

Mindaku di atas

Kepala,

Dari Monorel berlalu,

Dulu tak begitu 5

Kerap.

Dua puluh minit cukup

Untuk menonton kota

Sibuk ini.

Namun sukar sekali 10

Menghayati

Tatkala manusia berlari,

Berpusu, berteriak, bercungap,

Berpeluh, memecut, mengunyah roti;

Keriuhan kota pacuan pagi. 15

Imbauan-imbauan di

Kepala

Ku ini,

Bisu;

Tenggelam 20

Di bawah keterburuan kota

Pagi.

Dua puluh minit

Cukup

Untuk mendengar 25

Keterburuan pagi

Kota sibuk.

Sekarang,

Monorel yang berlalu,

Dari atas, 30

Jambatan batu,

Kudengarkan

Perarakan talu

Memburu masa.

Tiada dapatku 35

Hentikan masa,

Untuk susupan

Kenangan singkat.

Dua puluh minit

Cukup untuk aku 40

Menontonkan

Mata-mata sayu

Dengan senyuman

Dan bayang-bayangmu,

Yang pernah mengisi 45

Tempat ini.

Bangku ini

Yang aku kerapi,

Pernah menunggumu

Dari sini, 50

Kota rinduanku.

Pagi hari ini,

Pagi yang bisu,

Tatkala kota berlari,

Berpusu, berteriak, bercungap, 55

Berpeluh, membisu, mengunyah perit,

Merasmikan keriuhan kota pagi.

Kota rinduan ini

Terukir senyuman dan

Bayangan beratmu, 60

Di sebalik kaca-kaca

Yang memukat awan.

Pagi kota ini,

Sunyi dan bisu,

Kerana aku cuma 65

Mendengar

Rinduanku

Pada pagi keriuhan kota.

The Expressionist

What is cubism,

Trianglism, hexacism,

Is Geometry any different?

Each has in common

Exclusiveness

Of chaos, cobwebs & calligraphy,

In the expressionist’s view,

They are chaos in

The real world,

The realist:

Those are chaos in

Their rigidity.

It’s metal in fire,

And women in water,

And birds catching clouds,

Entangled in the cobwebs of insidious

Eyes.

It could resemble spikes of towers,

Gridlines of power,

Lightbulbs in squatters’ loos,

Shadows in the streams,

Smoke of thoughts,

On the mirror,

Scribble from photographs,

Taken in Tokyo,

@Times Square,

With a Geisha smiling,

Could be hillocks

With twin lighthouses,

Astride on diametrical peaks.

The red paint

Could be blood

From chickens’ bladders.

The glisten glaze

Either be varnish

Or tears.

The blue dabs,

Must be daughters

At birth.

Nursing by the paddy

The grains saddle,

In the golden dusk.

The browns

Are soil taken

From the buffaloes’ dung.

There was geometry

Everywhere

The perfection would be symmetry.

The chaos sitting on the edge,

The freedom tangled in cobwebs,

And calligraphy whispering in the hollow space.

These are master crafts

Of cubical hexacism

Composed in chauvinism 54

The Trails of Penance

I never apprehend,

Is this world a real fallacy?

Or just me bidding one?

In my elusive refuge,

Hopes are not be chastised,

Neither persecuted for,

Nor endowed with,

These “hopes” are non-extemporial.

As hopes are fallacies on Earthland,

Those were just my scribbles along the path,

Through these trails of penance,

Hopes were just illusory.

I would want a requiem,

Wash myself off from these past.

Once before I assuaded myself,

That those afflictions were my desperate determination,

For a redemption,

Of my real self,

It was never once a penance,

Indeed, I had just wanted to immortalize beyond my hopes

Along the trails of my past;

I could only

Carry myself through in the darkness,

These hopes that had been my determination.

Nonetheless, those were the gone days,

These paths are now blessed with joy,

Vibrancy and a new-fought history.

Now, I am just a visitor from the past.

Translated from "Menjejak Harapan-from Jan 10th, 2010 post"

Loves on Graveland

These loves on the grave,

Are not as red as roses you can crave,

These loves will be laid,

And be read on my ground,

Resting on the slabs,

Beneath the shadow of clouds,

I heard the sky in silence,

I doubt whether heaven is that silent.

I asked YOU:

Why the heaven today is so silent?

It makes me doubting your existence,

Is it after death, all left are silence and deep slumbers?

That Heaven is in fact not here,

Only humans on Earth adorn your garden in beauty?

Mimicking your existence

In the ample yard of graves.

Then I heard YOU whispered,

“Heaven is only in your mind,

The silence is of your mind,”

I could hear my own voice in my own whisper.

Menjejak Harapan

Aku tak mengerti,

Adakah alam ini suatu kekesalan benar?

Ataupun kekesalan di sudut mata?

Di dalam duniaku yang sempurna,

Harapan bukan disungguhi,

Ia bukannya dipinta,

Bukanpun suatu bentuk kurniaan,

Ia tidak wujud.

Kerana harapan itu cuma kekesalan di Bumi.

Terdapatpun coretan-coretanku di setiap jejak di sini,

Di sepanjang lorong-lorong kekesalan ini,

Harapan sekalipun cuma ilusi.

Aku ingin menimbus,

Memadam lorong-lorong ini dari ingatan,

Sekali-kali aku memujuk diri,

Bahawa jejak-jejakku di sini cuma keazamanku

Untuk suatu penebusan kembali,

Diriku sebenar yang sudah lama ditinggalkan,

Ia bukan sekalipun kekesalan,

Ya, aku cuma mengabadikan harapanku

di sepanjang lorong-lorong memori,

Aku cuma terdaya

Masa itu memimpin diriku dalam keperitan

Harapan-harapan yang pernah menjadi keazaman diri.

Kekesalan ini telahpun berlalu,

Lorong-lorong ini kini dipenuhi keriuhan,

Kewarnian hakiki dan sejarah yang baru.
Aku kini cuma pengunjung dari silam.

The Suicide Kid-by Charles Bukowski (1992)

I went to the worst of bars

hoping to get

killed.

but all I could do was to

get drunk

again.

worse, the bar patrons even

ended up

liking me.

there I was trying to get

pushed over the dark

edge

and I ended up with

free drinks

while somewhere else

some poor

son-of-a-bitch was in a hospital

bed,

tubes sticking out all over

him

as he fought like hell

to live.

nobody would help me

die as

the drinks kept

coming,

as the next day

waited for me

with its steel clamps,

its stinking

anonymity,

its incogitant

attitude.

death doesn't always

come running

when you call

it,

not even if you

call it

from a shining

castle

or from an ocean liner

or from the best bar

on earth (or the

worst).

such impertinence

only makes the gods

hesitate and

delay.

ask me: I'm

72.