Category: thoughts

my mother speaks to herself
as if in a reverie.

I go past her, careful in movements, 
drag a chair close to her, knowing
I can listen to an historical event.

Mom often goes back,
These moments throw a variety 
of experiences happy and sad.

The rich culture of India, a sponge
absorbed the British ways, has become 
a worthy nothing. 

“The whites”, her term for British 
came as traders, laid the bait 
and we, like fish, got trapped.

Education saw a transformation.
The Whites taught us servitude
and many of us succumbed to their vile.

The schools where teaching was in 
mother tongue,turned unpopular.
English became the language of learning. 

Ransack of wealth was done with ease
the Kohinoor diamond, and many more 
flew to Britain, she quips.

Thousands of men and women
were bundled, shipped, like cargo 
to destinations unknown.

Tears stream, choking, she continues. 
with anger and grief. I am unable to find 
which overlaps the other.

Leaving her at this juncture
I pace with anguish. Pause 
for a while. Turn to see mom.
She is lost.

I miss Id Mubarak, when Malaysia
resonates with laughter,
I rejoice, from afar
with you, as I did earlier.

The crescent moon
in the dark sky marks the
commencement of Ramadan,
the 40 day fast ends.
It is Hari Raya.

Celebrations bring
happiness and concern.
Hand shakes and greetings
mark the day.
Hari Raya Adlitifri

The family gathers
in the kampongs. a reunion,
relish the sumptuous buffet.
Love and care overwhelm.
Salamat Hari Raya

Sweets and savouries,
beef and fish along with
rice are served to the needy’
A liberal hand out.
Ramadan in its glory.

Fun and frolic
goes with the day,
compassion and mercy
makes the festival credible.
Salamat Datang.

I woke up to the sound of alarm.
Knotting my brows, I wonder.
How? I did not set time.

Gone are the days when
I jumped out of bed
to oversee the chores.

I am well past the days
of hurry and worry, accustomed
to relaxation, I rub my eyes.

The shrill sound resonates.
I go back to the old days hectic
when I roamed like an eccentric.

The cry of my new born,
the whimper of the middle one,
and the scramble of my eldest,

the noise in the kitchen
the hooting of the school bus
keep alive my madness,

It is all gone,as I
recline in my bed, listening
to the tweets of birds.

Destined to live in countries,
the mercury at heights,
I turn cranky often.

I live in two countries.
one right on the equator.
warm throughout the year.

The other, a little above,
in the tropics, with harsh
summer and pleasant winter.

I burn and fume,
evaporate and froth,
one of a disarray.

Never will I land
in a place different,
I know fully well.

These countries extract
the breath out of me,
exhaustion overwhelms.

Never a day I miss the Sun.
It is at its best all the time
Bright and brilliant,

I have heard
of snow and cold
long to see and feel.

That would never be,
I know, I have to remain
forever, till my end.

The work I do
with the whole heart
where I slog and score
causes no commemoration.

The responses go south,
strings being pulled
unmindful,down
goes the cheer.

Array of disappointment
percolates. fixes me
in a state of despair.
I get rattled.

Being placed almost
in similar status,
every time, I reconcile
with no other go.

The indifference drives
me to ends, the insinuations
largely hurt, I stick to my
principles ever strong
with a smile.

That which will happen
none can say. Even
Nostradamus can
go wrong.

Weather forecasts
are undependable
Exit polls in elections
mislead.

Medical emergencies
unexpectedly become
ordinary. Court verdicts
turn farcical.

Rain and sun,
life and death,
success and failure
are not in our hands.

A force acts from beyond
from where no one knows.
Kindness delivers good,
it creates miracles.

Fasting and praying
mark the month of Pusa.

Remembering Allah and his deeds
with prayers from the heart.

Islam, a gentle religion.
abounds with wisdom.

Nowhere it talks of violence
speaks most of love and forgiving.

The world, at large,
is under an onus.

A stress which reflects
fear and failure.

The killing, suicide bombing
and setting fire are advents.

They have percolated too much.
Profound are the roots.

Earth, once, was secular
where all religions flourished.

Vengeance and intolerance
dissect and torment,

The Pusa month insists
on love and tolerance.

Muslims, wherever they are.
must vow not to endanger.

Let the Muslim brethren start
the rest will follow.

We can see a congregation
where love embraces all.

We will find a community
where smile reigns.

We hope to see the world
become a haven of peace and happiness.

The best Hari Raya gift
by Muslims to the world.

Light and dark,
the one shines,
spreads life,
acts and reacts
with aplomb

The other quells,
stands solitaire,
remains quiet,
dispels and diffuses
with serenity.

A clash of clan one sees
where egoism outsmarts,
the one overlaps
while the other succumbs
a play in the cards.

These are applications
not man made, go back
to time immemorial,
are loaded with techniques
intricate and fine.

Both work with a time table,
light has the day
for its activities
the dark confines
to the whole night.

A software programmed
long time ago ,
stays tall with none
to challenge. Tech giants
will never find one similar.

The checks, scans,
immigration and thumb
impressions, the wait and walk
at the airports turn me
insane.

The luggage is examined
in three centres. Queuing, I
endure the formalities with
disenchanted cheer.

My laptop is skimmed
naked, as if it is dreadfully ill.
Documents, mails, and photos
remain no longer private.

The objective test completed
I become the subject. A lady officer
passes the wand along my sides.
to a squeaky noise.

The second examination
is performed. This time
the beep shouts loud. She
becomes panicky.

She talks to herself.
What could this woman have? Mostly
narcotics hidden or gold masqueraded
between her sari folds.

She cries out to her senior.
Enter a burly woman with thick
who gives a strong push,
I stagger to the corner.

Holds me in her hefty
arms. She looks into my eyes,
trying to discover the ploy
thinks I am a smuggler.

She bids me to remove
the bangles, and chain.
She thinks of the reward
she would be entitled to

The tool circulates
with a spin. This time falls
quiet. Takes a step back,
smiles awkward, whisks away.

I am free to go.Condescend
a benign smile, Wish to say
better luck next time
refrain with an effort.

The aircraft is ready to board.
Go through the jet bridge.
after wearing the bangles
and chain. They being real gold
>

I wish to be like a rose.
delicate and strong,
I can never emulate.

The flower, nestles
between thorns,
acrobatic in style.

The petals, express
concern, small and soft
but remain steadfast.

The fragrance mild
and pleasant spreads
remains forever.

Those in bunches
of four and five
claim solidarity.

The single ones
reminiscent of royalty,
emit grace.

Life is not a bed of
roses cautions
the prickly thorns.

The beautiful rose
inspires with passion
entices with loveliness.