Tuesday, 22 December 2009

The Monsoon Season

The Monsoon Season
For weeks the sun hides.
Torrential rain pours.
Rivers overflow.
Inundated plains - an eye sore.

Crops submerge.
Bridges and roads useless.
Cars and boats mere trophies.
Adorning homes only to please.

Farmers and fishermen imprisoned.
Their livelihood abandoned.
‘Tis the monsoon season.
Everything stood still for a reason.

Fish become a rarity.
Wet markets empty.
Meat, chicken and vegetables
are the food available.

Prices surely hike.
Local governments must strike.
Otherwise inflation will soar
as traders try to make more.

Unscrupulous devils do exist.
In all corners they live.
Waiting to fleece
as they please.

Fatal Attraction

An Angel face
The body of a Goddess
Move sexily
Voice silky

Glued my eyes
My heart in vice
My feeling battered
Imagination bewildered

Long to hold
Kiss and mould
Feel the bliss
Are all I wish

Willing to sacrifice
To win her love
Willing to die
To own her soul

Lo! An Angel to behold
Stunning beauty
Beautiful dolly
Everything about her perfect

A trophy for me select
Sit back man and reflect
They say beauty is skin deep
Inner beauty is for keep

I’m but human
Can’t resist the temptation.


Father dear.
You were the Rock.
Firm and unwavering
even when mother left us.

You’re like the Great River.
Unchanged and eternally flowing.
We couldn’t fathom your emotion.
Nor turn around the situation.

You were like the virgin forest.
Keeping your feelings to yourself.
I knew you must had suffered a great deal.
Since mother left us, life had been uphill.

You withdrew into your own shell.
You never spoke a word to me.
‘Twas the curse of being in the middle maybe.
Nonetheless, I love you dearly.

You were absolutely numb.
But I yearned for your loving arms.
I knew you little.
As at an early age I left for the bigger town.

You once came to visit.
Couldn’t stay long you’re homesick.
Then one day when I was fifteen.
You fell sick and followed mother.

‘Twas what you were after.
‘Twas what you wanted most dear.
I hope now you are happy.
In mother’s loving company.

A Dinosaur Awakened

(The ex students of Tanjong Lobang School/College of the 60s and 70s have formed a cyber forum where we could interact and reminsce the good old days. Most of us are now in our early 50/60. We affectionately call ourselves "dinosaurs" or "dino" in short.)

A freezing wind from the Tundra.
A dinosaur awakens from deep slumber.
A rose blossoming, bees buzzing
sucking honey most sweetly.

Unbelievably this forum happens.
A chance to renew acquaintance.
To reminsce Tanjong days golden.
An era our mind couldn't fathom.

Like the blossoming rose
and the awakened dinosaur,
we want to relive the moment again.
But alas! They are in vain.

Never let go you guys.
This precious gem money can’t buy.
The Tanjong Forum is for keep.
Embed it in our hearts and spirits.

Never in a Thousand Years

(I am trying to be an artist trying to paint a picture of a distraught man).

Never in a thousand years
will I bear the pain again.
Never again in this life
will I swim the sea of tragedy.

Never again will I want to cry
and suffer a lifetime of sorrow,
in a darkened silence.

Oh! To touch the beckoning stars.
Oh! To reach the highest mountain top,
and bare my soul on the wind-swept peak
and shout my heart out.

Baring my soul to the world below.
Expunge my suffering and sorrow
into the freezing solar winds,
and pray and weep to the Almighty.

Why of all people it must be me?
Not again, even in a thousand years!

Wednesday, 16 December 2009


Mother dearest.
You left us for nearly 60 years today.
You are now far far away.
Among the millions of stars in the Milky Way.

I tried to remember your loving arms.
I tried but there was none.
You left me too early.
I was still a baby.

From what I was told.
You were a kind-hearted soul.
Helpful, hard-working bumble bee
An asset to the community.

I had one vivid memory of you.
I suppose a gift so true.
Minutes before your last breath.
I crawled to your side and you held me in a tight embrace.

Couldn’t forget that look in your face
The tears, the torment and the sadness
It had always haunted me
I didn’t know then what could it be?
Now I know - it was the pain
of abandoning your loved ones.

Mother dear, I may not have felt your love.
But I pray you are happy up above.
Have you met father?
He loved and followed you ten years later.

We know you are together again.
Don’t worry, your children are in the right lane.
You’ll be happy to know
we have carried your name like a rainbow

Rest in peace both of you.
We love you so true.


An Angel face.
The body of a Goddess.
Move sexily.
Voice silky.

Glued my eyes.
My heart in vice.
My feeling battered.
Imagination bewildered.

Long to hold.
Kiss and mould.
Feel the bliss
Are all I wish.

Willing to sacrifice
To win her love.
Willing to die
To own her soul.

Lo! An Angel to behold.
Stunning beauty.
Beautiful creation.
She's a perfection.

A trophy for me select.
Sit back man and reflect.
They say beauty is skin deep.
Inner beauty is for keep.

I’m but human.
Hard to resist the temptation.

Saturday, 12 December 2009

The Cock Fight

It’s no ordinary cock.
It’s a fighting cock.
A champion breed.
Trained by the owner
to be a money spinner.

Enthusiasts are specialists.
They could read, interpret and firmly believe
that colours and pattern of feathers,
scales on feet, eyes and beaks,
even abnormalities and deformities
have special powers.
Criteria for winners.

The day finally came.
An instant arena made
in the middle of the jungle.
Out of prying eyes meddle.
An open space surrounded by a wooden fence
to keep enthusiasts out and the fighting within.
From near and far they came.
‘Tis a mini festival in another name.

Two camps at each end they set up.
Both decided the fighting order.
Which fighter should first take the arena.
The owners knew the strength of their fighters.
Morning, afternoon or evening fight greatest?

Once decided both fighters
were brought to the centre of the court.
They were squared off and agreement reached.

Wagers were offered and counter-offered.
A three-inch, paper-thin and moon-shape knife,
sharp as a razor blade,
made to fit the fighters’ feet,
were skillfully tied by a specialist
to find the opponent’s heart,
sever main muscles and make incapable.

The fight was swift.
A mid-air clash.
Feathers flew and blood splashed.
The loser sometime admitted defeat.
Sometime the battle could last a few minutes,
with neither willing to admit defeat.
Until the knife found the artery.
Blood drained out from the body.
The gallant loser simply slumped to the ground.
Death was certain even before the ground it found.

Money exchanged hands.
Pride and happiness to the victorious camp.
A tinge of sadness to the loser.
Not for the death of his fighter.
But at the loss of his money.
He will find a better fighter.
To get his money back that’s for sure.

Today, cock-fighting is illegal
Deemed inhumane and cruel.
Rearing of fighting cocks is still unfazed.
Not for anything but their beauty craze.

Thursday, 10 December 2009

The Long House Ghost

The cloudless deep-blue sky.
The blazing sun burning high.
Larks fly in drunken flight pattern.
Chasing insects from their nest driven.

The long house under the canopies of fruit trees.
Farmers under heavy load bend double,
going up the ladder, steep, humble.

Inside there’re a hive of activities
Women weaving.
Children running, squealing and crying.
Rice pounding.
Some engross picking lice.
Hunting dogs howling and prancing.
Begging their masters to go hunting.

Suddenly chaos at the far end.
Children screaming and scampering.
Seeking the security of their rooms.

As the commotion comes nearer.
What cause it, is clear.
A grotesque ghost.
Twice taller and bigger
than human is descending.
Hungry for children crying.
Red eyes bulging.
Sharp fangs baring.
Hands outstretch with razor sharp claws.
Running hither and thither, looking for kids crying.
To appease its perpetual hunger - starving!

As kids hide, trembling.
The ghost is seen to enter a house.
Behind the closed door its costumes derobe.
Satisfied his acting has achieved the desired mode.
The children are behaved now, he notes.

Strangled by a Ghost

The Big Clock chimed. Midnight!
All were dead still under the dim light.
Streets deserted.
Lights flickered.

The moon shone lazily.
Creating shadows dancing eerily.
I walked fast.
Reach home I must.

Dared not look about.
Evil spirits every where, no doubt.
Looking for the right moment
When I’m most uncertain.

My door was already open!
And knew ‘twas imminent.
I sat on my bed,
Pretending, trying to be brave.
An ancient wisdom of strength and solace.

The door opened slowly.
But I could see nobody.
I trembled and felt helpless.
Felt a vice grip on my throat.
Couldn’t move, couldn’t shout.
A helpless situation no doubt.

I was slipping into unconsciousness.
With sheer determination and breathlessness
I managed to shout “Allahu Akhbar!”
Felt the grip loosening.

Like a drowning man I woke up.
Gasping and kicking!
The shouts in my ears still reverberating.
I was thinking and wondering,
Was it real or was I dreaming?

I felt the goose bumps creeping.
Indicating the presence of invisible beings.
That was a terrible dream really!
It left my thoughts tipsy turvy.

Knights of the Shining Crowns

Dear Readers,
We have two members with bald heads and another three with receeding hair line. They suggested jokingly that they should be called "Knights of the Shining Crown!"
As a follow up I decided to compose a poem dedicated to them.


An Arena adorned with flags and colours.
Terraced seats overflowed with spectators.
King Arthur, Lady Guinevere and his Knights
At the Royal Box full in sight.

The Arena suddenly came alive.
A huge roar the adrenalin drive.
Two Knights appeared opposite each other.
Each led by their own Squire.

One was in full body plate armour.
Strangely, the other was only in chain mail armour!
‘Twas no protection against the lancer!
And an armored helmet replaced by a feathered hat!
Surely, this Knight was as good as dead!

As the trumpets sounded the signal all clear.
The horses galloped faster and faster.
Lances aimed at the heart of the opponent.
And lo! In a split second before the impact
the helmetless Knight took off his hat!
There was a searing blinding flash
and in the next split second
the other Knight on the ground crashed.

What magic! What power could conjure!
One by one the Knight defeated his opponents,
Until he stood alone in front of King Arthur.
Lady Guinevere threw him a bouquet of flower
to acknowledge his supremacy.
He took a deep bow and rode into the sun hurriedly.

“Who is that Knight?” King Arthur asks Sir Lancelot.
“That’s the legendary ZAM from Malaysia, Sire!
The other, Bob Lynn is from the United States of America.
They called themselves Knights of the Shining Crown,
As they could harness the power of light without a frown.
David, Uki and Reggie are still undergoing training.
In five more years their crowns too will be shining!”

Sunday, 6 December 2009


For sixty years I googled at the moon
Hoping it could come nearer.
I yearned to touch and caress it soon.
But alas! The longing remained a dream so dear.

For forty years I had suffered
The suffering of a love-sick silhouette,
Condoning the pain and hurt.
It was unbearable and I couldn't face it.

Tanjong Lobang was a heaven on Earth.
It had been a home seemingly eternity.
The principals, teachers and students
All live in goodwill and harmony.

It was a home and a learning institution.
Sarawakians of all races, rich and poor,
And from diverging family creation,
All came with one purpose was clear.

Grinded and milled by principals and teachers
From countries as far as New Zealand,
The United States of America and Canada.
Tanjongers, transformed, became the pride of the Land.

TLS produced leaders and professionals abound.
To serve, guide and administer
The Country, the Nation and the World around
With the knowledge and wisdom they had learned thereafter.

Today, as we can see,
Tanjongers are not only leaders in various fields.
They are scattered all over land and sea.
To lead, serve, administer and provide the shield.

Today, the group of the late 50s and 60s have since retired.
A few, despite having passed pensionable age
Are very much in the groove and still required.
They are proofs that Tanjongers could not be erased.

Some months ago a bright spark called Doc Hoi Hee
Toyed with the idea of rekindling lost friendships
That we had spurned and weaved in glee.
In no time, the Big Towkay had made the worthwhile trip.

We have found the magic that we have lost!
We have found the laughter and the smile!
We have found what we love most!
The TLS spirit that had binded us all this while!

Now each couldn't live without the other.
Sharing old and new stories.
Eagerly pouncing like a panther.
Young old boys acting boyish.

Spent ungodly hours infront of the computers.
Trying to talk to one another across the globe.
Barely aware of the real-time investors.
As they have to keep time for their job.

The BOOK is in the offing.
With Chief Towkay doing the writing and compiling
And Chief Editor Bob Lynn doing the editing.
Once completed, we'll meet for the launching.

Once the BOOK is launched what then?
We must not lose our noble intention and friends.
Whom we had painstakingly lured from their dens.
Now that we have found each other, let the gaps we mend.

Thursday, 3 December 2009

My Retreat

My Retreat

(Having worked so hard in trying conditions, there will come a time when you want to have a complete rest and shut out all else from your mind and soul. You want to rejuvenate your mind and body. Each one of us have different ways of doing it. In my case I want to go to my retreat and be surrounded by nature)

The brook gurgles its way down over rocks and crevices,

In unhurried pace in a timeless world – priceless.

Its silky sounds soothing away my battered mind.

Unraveling the knots the world has bind.

A gust of the eternal wind caresses my face,

wiping away the dust and frustration’s haze.

Deep in the shade, my mind rejuvenates.

My spirit returning and strength mended.

Against the cloudless blue sky,

Birds hither and thither fly.

Riding and chasing the pregnant wind.

Living a simple life, pure and clean.

As I lay down, the soothing sounds my thoughts drown.

I’m floating, uncaring and devoid of frowns.

Gazing at the unfathomable and infinity dark blue sky.

What lay therein are beyond the comprehension of you and I.

At night a million friends keep me company.

Even a few light years away the stars twinkle down on me.

The moon smiles and brightens my retreat in soft gray light,

Bidding me a sweet dream and a good night

This retreat of mine is really an amazing magic.

A couple of days are enough to iron out the tragic

effects of the world gone mad.

My retreat, my rejuvenator – I’m so glad.