the woman who became a gospel

when i was
a kid
nobody told me
that my body
was mine
it took
bruises
on my thighs
from
unwelcomed hands
and
empty discarded bottles
of
anxiety medications
and
a metamorphosis
into poetry
to learn
that my anatomy
is a
scripture
that
I alone
can worship

Trickster Passion's Noose

You were so naive, love
to think that you could escape
Well you should learn by now
Passion takes no prisoners
there is no room for parole
no jailbreak no alibi no trial no acquittal
In this game of chance where
hearts are bartered for lust and
romance is just a series
of fabricated moans instead of
love letters and midnight strolls, you are
twice the fool to think that your
flight will go unnoticed
You should have known
your vanishing act is just a
rehearsal for an execution when
She signed alea iacta est
on your death warrant

did you hear about the depressive belle de jour?

she tried searching for medications in the cupboard

until she realized they never existed

like the apparitions she sees in the stained mirror on her four walls

all mirages, all hallucinations

like the boogeyman she used to fear as a little girl


well guess what she's all grown up now and

there's a bigger skeleton in her closet

i'll tell you a secret: that's where she keeps her demons

when her fist-sized heart ran out of space for broken bones

to make room for anhedonia and a ménage à trois

with Grief and Apathy


months later she still wakes up with her limbs

almost sticking out of her skin

haphazardly lying on a pile of sweat-stained linens

after a prolonged foreplay with her lovers and the only 

petite mort she achieves is insomnia


but the smell of a third paramour she hasn't met

now clings to her body

she wears his scent like an intoxicating perfume

unaware of its effects on herself because this

new opium has something to offer that 

others don't: the sweet promise of closure


she still doesn't know that his name is Death

inibukanpuisi #1 - ratapan sang kelana

tidak

tiada irama dan alunan suara sang bayu

yang akan menanti

kepulanganmu

wahai anak rantau



hanya kematian


dan


tangisan seorang hamba

yang bakal menghiasi

bumi gersang

To be honest, if god turns out to be a man I would be sorely disappointed

(yes yes this is my feeble mind's inability to grasp the concept of gender neutrality. judge away.)

unwritten

i traced the faint blue veins
branching out beneath the
films of your pallid wrists,
a lifeline indistinguishable from
my own happiness,
wondering if you somehow
trapped my smile, my laughter
the heaves of my chests
as i exhale life that is so wildly
entangled with yours
within those veins,
in the same way i bottle your
sadness in tightly sealed canisters
and toss them into the ocean
while my lips utter a silent but
fervent litany of prayers for
the currents to chase your
demons away from the shore

instead
i found the answer
in your lifeless eyes
when i could no longer
see myself reflected in them
a denouement
i should have seen
when the scars on your wrists
foreshadowed a premature end
for a love story that
never had a prologue
to begin with

Renungan dalam kegelapan

Langit dapat dilukis, sudut kambut diserayakan.

Mengapa perlu persetankan mereka yang berlainan bangsa atau agama, sedangkan buta terhadap aib sendiri? Sama-sama renungkan dan muhasabah diri. Cukup sudah telinga ini mendengar kata-kata dusta.

Usaha dan teruskan berjuang memperbaiki diri dahulu untuk-Nya sebelum membina masyarakat dan negara.

Kerana hanya Dia Maha Mengetahui dan Maha Adil.

(Maaflah, diri ini jarang sekali naik memberang dalam bahasa ibunda. Tetapi sebagai anak bangsa yang kini berada di perantauan, dan sedang menyaksikan kejahilan sesetengah pihak di tanah air tercinta yang masih enggan insaf, penulis sememangnya tidak mampu berdiam diri.)