A Red Day

‘Red Star’, the communist flag, towered high above Dataran Merdeka. The ashen skies blared with the rhythmic thundering of bombs. This was 2020, in Kuala Lumpur, where mud mixed with azalea-red blood. In dark labyrinths of the underground, Malay, Chinese and Indian slaves marched in resigned despair. All fell under the tyranny of Chairman Ong, even his own kin.

Far above the chaos, an almost ethereal aircraft hovered above the clouds. Inside this aircraft was a face struck by unspeakable horror. His once handsome features twisted by remorse, the lone figure turned away from the display screen.

No! Muhammad Qalif bin Faizshal would not bow to this cruel fate! It was still not too late to bring back the prosperous nation of Malaysia onto the beach of time. But the hourglass had been turned. He only had 24 hours before the effects became irreversible. “I must correct the mistake that should never have been!”

But first, he had to find out what went wrong in the first place. Hailing from the year 2091, where time travel was in an experimental stage, Qalif had previously travelled back in time to a small Malay kampung. There, he had collected several samples of dirt for research for the global environmental crisis. Sure, along the way he had met a few friends, but that was all.

“Sayang…come and take a rest…” Well, maybe more than just a few friends. Sharifah was stunning in her traditional baju kurung, and she had yet to know of the destruction that plagued the future. So sweet. So demure. So ignorant.

Qalif had first seen her washing clothes at the riverbank. The sun was shining brightly, and the way her black hair became one with the wind was so…so… intoxicating. Qalif flushed when he thought of the time when their eyes met, she was as red as a chilli padi, all the while biting her lip. Their gaze met for too long a time, and they fell in love. Finally, Qalif brought her here to the future.

Waking himself from his fantasies, Qalif waved her off, and added a smile for good meaning. There was too much at stake here to be wiling away precious time. Time. Such a mysterious creature; so short yet so long; so slow yet so fast- nothing in the world was as bewildering, as unpredictable, yet as certain as time.

And now, Time played an elusive game of hide and seek with him. Where had he gone wrong?! Qalif decided to eavesdrop on a few conversations on the surface. He zoomed in to the Chairman’s palace.

“Oi! Where’s my nasi lemak!?” The pompous Chairman roared like a spoilt, impatient child. “Sorry ah, boss! Wait ah!” Qalif shook his head and chuckled to himself. Despite the completely different timelines, the Malaysian attitude had persevered. Amazing.

Focusing back on work, he soon found the cause. Malaya never rose as a united nation because UMNO did not surface. It was never founded because Dato Onn Jaafar, UMNO’s founder, was never born. Instead of the pacifist UMNO, new radical pro-Malay mastery parties grew, and threw the country into civil war. The dream was shattered. When the dust cleared, only the red flag of communism remained.

Swiftly, Qalif set the mega computer to work to find out why the founder of UMNO was never born. In his heart, he knew he had inadvertently caused this. And only he could bring back Jalur Gemilang and Malaysia. He mechanically, efficiently navigated the time ship, and once more Time warp enveloped the massive vessel.

Back in the past, Qalif feasted his eyes upon the lush greenery of ancient Malaya. Carefully, he activated the ship’s invisibility mechanism and discreetly landed in a secluded area. He took his wife’s hand, and together they walked. He could smell the dried salted fish and the durian (already extinct in the future), and hear the gleeful laughter of children from afar. Funny how the little things in life are what you miss most.

Upon returning to the ship, Qalif eagerly checked the results. His excitement soon turned bland. His worst fear has been confirmed. The cold mechanical display screen showed only a face. Sharifah. The dagger of realization plunged into his heart, knowing he had taken away Dato Onn Jaafar’s great-great-grandaunt. Such an insignificant part of the family, could change the entire course of history.

“Sayang… why are you crying?” Qalif could only dry his cheeks, and meekly reply: “Because I love you too much.” Sharifah gave him a modest peck on the cheek, and then went away, stealing a concerned glance once in a while. She had learned to respect his privacy.

Qalif then administered the sleeping pill into her glass of ‘teh tarik’. Unsuspectingly, dear Sharifah drank it and fell into slumber. As Qalif erased her memory of him with a mind cell modifier, every second he pained inside. With every memory gone, he killed a part of himself.

And so, he left her where she came from, with no memory of their love. Soon, a young dashing fellow emerged from the bushes and saw her. The sun was shining once more. All was repeating itself, except that man was not Qalif. He felt an immoderate desire to punch the man and take her away, but his selflessness was too great. It was the ultimate pain for him to see the man court Sharifah.

With more than a sigh, Qalif stole her a last glance at her. A face he would never see again. He set back on his journey, and traveled back to the future.

He emerged in the futuristic city of Kuala Lumpur. A driver in a Proton Merpati cursed at him for his sudden appearance, and beat the hovering red traffic light. He was back, that was sure enough. Gratified yet strangely empty, he looked up and saw Sharifah’s face in the clouds. Still higher, he was the floating Dataran Merdeka, and the colours of Jalur Gemilang flashed before him once more.

Nothing

His smile frightens me.

Through the sharp speckle of light on my glasses, I see a boy, of a vulnerable fourteen years, his face pockmarked, skin a slight ebony, and a posture befitting a hundred year old. On his left cheek there are traces of yellow pus, and the light subsided, I see through those shiny marble balls.

I see hate. Suffering. Despair. Fear. Why I do not know, but what I do know is that I am dealing with an extraordinary character. His chapped lips curl into a sneer. I feel very uncomfortable at the sight of this, deeply disturbed by this sudden turn of events.

His dry coarse hands move to me, and his eyes speak to me. It tells me everything. I see his mistakes, his anger, his suffering. I know why this boy is so angry. I know the truth behind him, the reason he hates the world. Because I am his teacher. And a teacher knows all.

“ Yes, teacher? Would you like a cup of water?”

But no!... I see nothing. I am a fool to think I could understand such a complex character. I have received complaints from the other teachers and students. According to them, he dabbles in the dark arts, isolating himself in his room, plotting the deaths of many. But of course, this is all gossip. What is real is, he has tried framing others for stealing books, and most of the time, he succeeds in escaping punishment.

Just who is this boy?

His Christian name is Jonathan. He is a single child. His father is a Catholic pastor, and his mother left him at the age of three. His father, always busy with the church, is never at home. When he is, he is a total disciplinarian, and spares no expense on his education- via the cane.

But no! This is not him!

Oh… how am I to describe him? I cannot think of anything that would do him justice, but two personalities would aptly portray him.- Gollum/ Smeagol. He is like a chameleon, sometimes red with fury, or green with envy, or white like the cold Arctic. He cannot be described as one person, but many. He hates and loves the world, just as he hates and loves himself. Just like Gollum.

Gollum! Hah! Talk about bad analogies!

I laugh out loud at this point. The others around me turn at this outburst, and realising who I am talking to, swiftly turn away again, fading away into the nothingness. They see a reject, a delinquent, an outcast, a psychopath waiting to pounce. Perhaps my optimism has blinded me, but I see none of that. I see a scared boy, who wanted to be friends, until society banished him from the face of their lifestyles. I see a choice, which has yet to be made. I see a glimmer of hope, in the foreboding dark and deep recesses of his soul.

Dear, Joseph. Why, why oh why do you turn to evil? Why do you bury yourself in the sinister machinations of the occult, when you very well know that your past will forever find a way to claw its way out? Why do you insist on deviating to those god-forsaken horrors of humanity? Why do you refuse to listen to the heart-ached givings of a dear friend who loves you dearly?

“Because I hate you."

Hate me? But why? What evil have I done you?

“Nothing. That is exactly what you did, nothing. While my unfair segregation commenced, you ignored me. While the punishment of the lamb was meted, you let them torture me. While the moons and stars passed, you were in your own world. And for these and many more, I hate you, and I despise all that has come to be you."

And as mysteriously as he had come, he disappears as I sink into my chair. The dagger of realisation is not a pleasant one. It slithers in my soul, infesting my heart like maggots feeding on a rotting corpse.

I open my eyes in despair.

“Teacher? ", Jonathan asks politely , "Did you fell asleep? Are you tired? How do you feel?"

"Nothing, dear John. It's nothing. Nothing..."

Everything ( Baby...)

It's raining like it's never rained before,
and the wind's blowing, trying to rip the floor,
The waves are crashing, thunder on the shore,
but Baby, you're all I hear, will hear, and heard forever more.

The kids are playing on the street,
lovers making out on their seats,
people treating each other like shit,
But Baby, you're the only one I met, and will ever meet.

Bombs blowing up everywhere,
Gangs fighting here and there,
Idiots killing over the black and fair,
But no, Baby, you're all I care, yeah.

The world's in fire, sighing, falling,
There're bad guys,robbing, killing,
And I'm here, rotting, slowly dying,
'Cause Baby, you're my something, my nothing, my everything.

And I'm ready to do anything, for ya' darling... Anything...

Questions In The Dark

My dear friend,

Today I was wondering, like how a child wonders why the stars cannot be reached. I was thinking, like Albert Enstein hard at work with relativity. I was realising, like the sudden revelation that comes before regret. But most of all, my dear friend, I was feeling, like I have never felt before.

And so I asked the question. The question that haunts us all. The question that questions the questioner. The question I was dying to know the answer to.

What is this feeling that fills me up, yet empties my soul? What is this force that compels me to great heights and bottomless pits? What is this emotion that floods me, rain in an empty valley? What is this tingling sensation that tickles me;delights me; hurts me; saddens me- fills me with joy and grief at the same time? What am I feeling?

L-O-V-E.

O' mistress Love, who are you? Why do you entice me, seduce me, torment me, with your misgivings and charm? O' Your Majesty Love, where do you reside and what do you seek in etching a smile to my sullen face?

And they replied in unison: I am nothing, yet everything; I am the good, and the evil. I do not seek you with my charms, for it is you who are seeking me. I reside in all around us, especially in your heart. And I seek nothing, and everything in giving joy, for nothing and everything is the price of love.

No stranger or more miraculous thing has the world, save Love. For no other potion can turn an ordinary young woman into an angel beyond words; and a quaint nervous boy into a Greek God. No other almighty power can turn friend into foe, or foe into friend. No other grand architect can build bridges where there are none, and turn nothing into everything.

In this world, there are mighty kings and valiant warriors who know not of defeat. And yet, all fall like ants under a giant's wrath before Love. There are men, possessed of immesurable wealth. And yet, with Love, the poorest may feel to be the richest, and the richest may be the poorest.

It is no surprise then, that Love be free and yet so costly. Oh yes, Love floats to those who think not themselves, not of their companions, but of the 'we'. Loves rewards not the 'I', not the 'You', but the 'Us'. Yes, it is free, for it is a miracle: The more you give, the more you keep.

But no! It comes at a price. The price is your soul, perhaps your very own existence. What? You think it too high a price? O' miser, it is cheap at that price, for love cannot be bought! Nor can it be surely earned! Love sometimes comes floating to those who least expect it.

Ah love! So sweet and bitter; so splendid, so terrible; so selfless, so selfish; so much passion, so much possession- O' is there a more bewildering paradox in this world?

Smile

The millions come and go, leaving nothing,
like rain on rolling hills they flow, hoping for something.
And yet on their faces, only monotony-
the sheer straightness, repetition, so gloomy.

But amongst them, all turn to one smiling,
The pure joy, pure love, no lying.
Fireflies seem dull next to one so beaming,
and all for her beautiful smile, vying.

O' a smile, heaven's carpet unrolling;
A smile, earth's beauty unravelling;
A smile, the world's treasures shining;
A smile, a gift to the truly living.

A smile, free yet rare,
caring yet questioning,
charming and intoxicating,
so exciting, so tormenting:

Smile, for that is what it means to be truly loving.

Lost Laughter

18 February 1989, Sentul.

Inside the dilapilated house, the aroma of incense and ringing of solat prayers intertwined in the air. A question rang in the still atmosphere. " A diamond necklace?", asked Qalif to the man next to him. The two men rose from their prayers, and one bowed to Lord Ganesha. The candlelight revealed his skin to be as fair as Qalif's. " Yes, a diamond necklace. 24 karat I think.” he muttered through reddish-stained teeth.

“Eh machak, it's pronounced carat. Anyway… what you propose to do?". Grinning, Anirudhha took the drawing of the necklace and crushed it in his gigantic fist. Slowly, painfully, as if in suspense, he opened his mouth. ”We steal."

Sadly, all Qalif could bother about was just how foul Ani's breath was.

20 February 1989, Bukit Tunku.

The midnight sky glimmered with the radiant moonlight, its rays illuminating the bungalow ahead. There was a blue gate with flower motifs all over, and a withered, unkempt garden. The owners, a British couple were away. The two thirty-somethings sneaked towards the house, creeping like dieting women about to steal food from the forbidden fridge. Qalif was visibly distressed, perhaps still comtemplating the consequences of this act. " Qalif! Stop whining or I'll hit you on the head!" Ani, on the other hand, was a block of cold ice: slippery, cool and fast to melt.

The pair worked their way through the useless alarms and fences of the Mat Salleh's house. They had toiled to obtain all the necessary information, concerning everything they could possibly think of. All courtesy of dear Mrs. Cornwell’s maid. A quarter of the profit for her cooperation. Soon, they came to the one part they could not deal with: the dog.

Qalif was terrified of dogs. Ani wasn't exactly fond of them either. They were once chased by a mad mutt for half a mile, almost mauled, before help came through. This time, there would be no help. Nervously, Ani took their secret weapon, the bone. He waved it around, making sure the dog saw it, and threw it faraway. The naive canine ran after it. Unhindered, they made through everything else without much effort.

Finally, they made it to the dressing room. Qalif impatiently yanked open the drawer right below the make up accessories, as the maid had said. And for the first time in his life, he felt truly exalted. Their inexperienced eyes feasted on the shining gold chain, moreover, at the humongous sapphire. To them, it looked like heaven trapped in a priceless mirror.

In their triumph, they forgot about their debts, their miseries, their poverty, AND the fact that they were long overdue. To their horror, they heard sirens blaring in the night. The owners must have come back, and their maid had unwittingly chickened out. " Take it and run like a rampaging cow herd!" laughed Ani, attempting to cover his worry in stale jokes. Qalif did not respond. His face was blank, but he forced a wink with his scarred left eye. He was the serious one. It hadn't always been like that.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It is raining, and everybody is cuddled up at home, taking their naps. But two boys remain. They are playing with paper boats at the drain beside the field. One by one, the boats sail away, memories, flowing to the great unknown. They chase around, tease one another, and nobody can tell they are of different races. Their joy continues, and then comes to an abrupt silence when one boy falls down.

The boy does not get up. The other boy goes forward, with a look of concern. He comes closer, closer, and when the time is right… the boy suddenly awakens and pulls him down. When the Malay boy rises, he reluctantly smiles, but he has scarred his eye. " It's just a little of blood, no worry." Dirty and injured, they are scolded by their mothers when they get back home. But they do not care. They laugh, mad they are. They laugh as if laughing was all they knew.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Qalif returned to reality. The harsh reality that they were no more than petty criminals trying to fill their stomachs. In that reality, his heart was thundering, in the midst of escape. Thump. They were out of the house, into the stolen Proton Saga. Thump. Ani stomped the accelerator, his fake driving license dangling below the rear-view mirror. Thump. The sirens were getting softer, they were outrunning them! Thump. They were on the slip road, in the bumpy hills. At the moment Ani decided to look back, a tree appeared into view. Qalif tried to take over, but it was too late.

BANG! The impact of the crash sent Qalif flying out of the car, and Ani hit his head against the cold metal of the flimsy toy. Qalif had injured his head and arm, but he miraculously still held on to the necklace. Meanwhile, Ani was still conscious, but he was trapped in the car, and was bleeding profusely. He would need Qalif’s help.

A most uncharacteristic, ignoble thought sprang to Qalif's mind. He could take the necklace all for himself. He would take too long a time anyway to help Ani out. " Qalif, I'm stuck. Tambi, give me a hand!" The sirens could be heard in the distance, in a sharp crescendo. Ani was his friend! After all these years, would he forsake his one true friend? It was now or never. Ani saw his hesitation, and understood. He let out everything at the top of his voice, not with anger or a cry, but a laugh. Ani laughed, a cold, sharp laugh and Qalif could only look on, bewildered. Why was he laughing? The sirens could be heard too clearly now. Puzzled and desperate, he made his decision.

He ran. Just seconds after running, he immediately regretted his decision. Too late. Qalif ran, he ran away from all his grief, from his friend, from his jail, from his death, from his life...

22 February 1989, Anirudha's family's home.

" Oh dear Qalif! It is kind of you to visit us. Ani would rest at peace with you here! I told him not to mix with those gangsters! He should have stayed with you, you would have saved him..."

Qalif could only suppress an urge to hang himself. By reflex he changed the subject, and read the newspapers to lighten him up with more political hypocrites.

[ The Star, Sunday, 22 February 1989]

BURGLAR DIES IN CAR CRASH

By L. Arathi
arathi@thestar.com.my

BUKIT TUNKU: A 36-year old Indian man's dead body was found in a slip road through the hills yesterday in the early morning. The man has been identified as M. Anirudha, a known triad affiliate.

It is believed that the man was involved in the burglary of The Ambassador of the British Embassy, Mr. Cornwell’s bungalow. The purported burglar’s last words were apparently spoken to Mr. Cornwell’s maid: “Don’t tell. Tolonglah.” Their maid is now suspected of abetting crime.

Fascinatingly, the only thing stolen was a counterfeit necklace owned by Mrs. Cornwell. The necklace was very similar to the famous original Enchanteur necklace, and the difference cannot be told apart without professional expertise. Preliminary investigations also indicate a second accomplice, believed to be a …..

Qalif stared into the nothingness, and then he let out a laugh. He now knew the meaning of that cold, sharp laugh. Now, he no longer cared for anything. He laughed, mad he was. He laughed as if laughing was all he knew.

Rip It Up

Good morning. Ladies and gentlemen, would you all please open the sheet of paper previously distributed? Mrs. Cecilia Ratnam, could you please read the passage entitled “ Understanding Poetry”?

She stands up and reads it aloud.

INTRODUCTION

MEASURING POETRY
By Prof. Dr. J.H. Evans Pritchard PhD

Poetry’s greatness can be measured by plotting its importance on the x axis, and its elegance on the y axis. These two join to make a set of coordinates. Consequently, ‘Daffodils’ by William Wordsworth has a measurement of 57, relatively high. Make sure the intersection is at 90 degrees and that the formula for rhyme and rhythm is accurate.

Thank you. You may sit down. That, ladies and gentlemen, was pure excrement. Poppycock. Utter nonsense. Poetry cannot be measured! Can you measure love? Can you measure hate? Can you? No! Now, I want you all to do something. Rip it up. You heard me, rip it up. Silence... Rip. It. Out. Be gone Mr. J. Evans Pritchard! I want to hear nothing but the tearing of Mr. P. Tear it , shred it! We’ll perforate it, put it on a roll….

My friends, this is war, and the casualties could be your lives. Armies of academics stepping forward measuring poetry… Ha! This is not American bandstand! Oh, I like Bryon, I’ll give him a 42, but I can’t dance to him. Oh that Shakespeare fellow, I’ll give him a 9 on the x- axis. No, we’ll not have that here.

Look at that board, what do you see? A dot? Do you know what I see? I see millions of white dots interconnected, forming that whiteboard. The question is perception. One man’s rubbish is another man’s treasure. A glass may seem half full or half empty. So, what about that dot? That, is you. If you drop one teeny drop of ink into a bottle of water, the colour will change. You are the decider of your opinion, not some International Measuring System. You, can change the colour of the world. You, are master of your soul; You, are the commander of your heart; You, are the captain of your mind. You, are the one who can persuade through words.

Those words may yet to change the minds of millions everywhere. But are our works futile? Look at the world crumbling in despair. Look at the victims of greed that could be you. Look at the Earth being plundered and pillaged by mankind. Look at the world spiraling into doom at the whim of madmen. What good is there amid these?

The answer? Close your eyes. Do you see yourself toiling under the hot sun? No, you see yourself enjoying life with your loved ones. Medicine, law, engineering, yes, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, romance, beauty, love, these are what we live for. And so, the answer? That life exists, and identity. That, you can put a twinkling set of words in one’s mind. That, your words may change the word. That, the play goes on, and you may contribute a verse. Slowly… That the play goes on, and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?

Nature's Passion

Love is a play and we all have our parts,
Cry, laugh, love, hate- we are actors.
Blessed warmth fills my fragile heart,
A spark of fire and feeling like no other.

Light attracts flies, shock at every turn,
But still they come, a mistake never to learn.
Passion, possession, pain and elation,
Bittersweet, full of concern and emotion

Trees come in tall, stout, thin and low,
But still in every plant the force of life flows.
O’ my love, I love you so,
Be it summer, spring, sun or snow.

Wait

I stand here under a greyish shade,
Pondering on an emerald glade.
Under the thundering rain
inside aching in pain,
I stand here, waiting.

Wondering, in my glass heart,
if you will come, give me a hug.
Sun and moon and stars bid goodbye,
and yet day and night here I lie.
Lying here, waiting.

My soul tells me the hour is late,
and it is simply not my fate.
Maybe, just maybe I am living a lie,
Maybe, just maybe, you care not for my life.
Why am I here? Waiting.

They say my passion is deception,
They say all will come to sad conclusion
But the lover is the fool deceived,
and not the love, the emotion conceived.
Am I misled? No, I am waiting.

The stars may become old,
and cowards may grow bold;
The radiant sun may fade,
and green may no longer be jade,
Yet, I will be here, waiting...

END

Darkness Within

I feel the darkness within,
of anger, of grief, of sin.
I feel my heart thunder,
for my blunder after blunder.
I feel the very earth quake,
because of my own mistake.

O' what does it matter?
problem, or heart shattered!
O' do they ever care?
or will I continue despair!
O' do the pillars shake,
under the menace of hate!
O' till the early are late,
and all men are mates,

Only then, I will
Release my eternal fate...


END

Chains Of Sorrow

My heart darkens in sorrow,

Struck by death's arrow.
Shan't I perish for thy love;
Or flutter away like a dove?

For peace is gone; despair is near,
Joy abandoned me; grief is here.
Why have thou left me alone, cold
in the dark, surrounded by evil souls?

O' let me free from thy manacles!
It is poison, killing me so subtle!
O' let me go! Open thy steel chains!
Take my life, and end my pain!

My soul drowns in sorrow,
For me, no more tomorrow.

Sea Of Sorrow

Fear. Anger. Hate. Suffering. The million negative words float in the sea of my mind. They are part of me, as they are part of you. Perhaps they are trying to drown me, to engulf me in their sea of sorrow, take me, bind me, suffocate me as I scream soundlessly.

But I refuse to go down. I will swim forever in this sea,be it on a boat or just me. Though sometimes I swim against the current, it matters not. I still swim. I swim.

I Walked Along The Emerald Sea

I walked along the emerald sea,
Chirping birds and buzzing bees,
Saw the moist morning leaves,
And pondered what was to be.

I stood on a cliff, tall and high,
And saw the man, for he was nigh.
Without him, life is but a lie,
Instead of joy, despair and a sigh.

Remember he told us ancient lore?
Of faraway lands and distant shores?
He had me gaping in utter awe,
And always always asking for more.

That is nothing, but a flash in time,
Of when I knew but one to nine.
But without him, life is a bad lime,
Sour, bitter and nothing tastes fine.

Why?
For he is the concerned,
the caring, the calm and cool;
The shunned,
the feared, the callous and the fool.

He is a firefly in the night,
Comfort in terror’s might,
A shady veil for the light,
A friend in a fight.

Who is she or he?
Who is greater than we?
Who can make us see?
Who can set us free?
Who? The teacher.

The Sea Of Sky

One day I lay on a green pasture,
a scenic meadow of mother nature.
The blazing roses blossoming,
The sunny sunflowers shining.

A sea of sky rumbled,
"Leave my place!" he grumbled.
I lay on the velvety grass,
and ignored it as farce.

So the sky unabashedly pissed,
Pouring down his watery filth.
I caressed a waving daffodil,
Embraced his will and just stood still.

Next came snow, sky with his frost,
He unleased winter, his temper lost,
Covering the greens till there was naught but moss,
I calmly kissed it without a moment's pause.

"Outrageous!" he thundered, and summoned Storm,
He blew with all his strength and might,
But I took it as the norm,
Watching willows dancing in the moonlight.

Thus, sky had the last straw,
For in me he found no flaw,
And bellowed for wind, gale and hurricane,
Floods, twisters and disasters of every pain.

I shrugged it off, and dreamed of the nether,
As stones, snow, water covered me forever.
One day in the midst of flowers I lied,
And in that very same place I flied.

Rainbow & Grey

His heart silently screamed, and he dried his eyes against the rough sides of his dull, grey coat. The coat was dark, but darker still was his heart. It hadn’t always been like this. There was a time, eons ago; when he was......
___________________________________________________

She was so ugly that your eyes would burn just by looking at her. But Rainbow’s eyes burned with a different fire. He thought Grey had neither a pretty face nor a colourful coat, but she had another kind of beauty, what's that cliché again, ah yes, inner beauty. To him, looks mattered not.
___________________________________________________

It was at the wedding of dear Mr. Robin, amidst the unabashed revelry of drunken bachelors-no-longer that Rainbow and Grey met. Rainbow was one of the unfortunate ones caught up in drink, and regurgitated everything before he could reach the God forsaken loo. Not exactly. Grey was the 'loo' he vomited in. Their faces red like overripe tomatoes, and their hearts as mushy as one too. It was the beginning of something great yet terrible, like the majesty and ferocity of the hunting lion.
___________________________________________________

One day, Rainbow returned home looking as if his face had been permanently etched with a grin. Everybody wondered what had happened, but rumour had it Rainbow and Grey had been blissfully prancing off somewhere secluded. The young ones loved to gossip, the elders soon heard of it and they were certainly not happy with “Rainbow & Grey”. You should have seen the look on his face, the old, grumpy elder. He was pale and green at the same time, and people seriously thought he was going to burst. Yes, not happy at all.

___________________________________________________

“Now, look little lady! Did you see that shooting star, the one that just whizzed past?” Grey obediently nodded. “That’s Rainbow, and this dirt I’m standing on is you. They have never met, can never meet, and will never meet, ever!”

She wanted to tell the fool that asteroids might collide with the earth one day, knock his head, but in the end, she simply buried her unsightly face into her tear-soaked coat. Was the village elder right? Her heart rang with questions of doubt and fear. Her silent sobs went on throughout the night, and even the dead cried in their eternal sleep.
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He was holding a grey feather and a rainbow feather in his hands, when she asked him to leave her. He threw both away, and asked her the question. “Do you love me?” The sunlight illuminated the vibrant colours of his fluffy coat, revealing the pride of his upright posture and his passionate gaze. Yes, the dignity he carried himself with and his passion… that’s what she loved most about him. Taken aback by his sudden outburst, she withdrew into the security of her dull, drab layer, but her heart wanted to do the opposite.
She said nothing, and it was just that, nothing.

Rainbow did not reply, but simply started to peck at his wings. He was taking out his very own feathers to place on Grey! Slowly, bit by bit, like a painter doing his last piece of work, he painfully, patiently finished his living masterpiece.

Grey had become beautiful! She now had a coat of colourful feathers, and her once-shunned upright feathers now seemed to emphasize her elegance. Unfortunately, beauty had its price to pay. Rainbow was now a drab grey; he had exchanged his own beauty, to ensure that of his loved one.

It should have ended right there, and they should have lived happily ever after, but it did not. Grey soon realized the bird she loved, had been lost with his feathers. She had loved an image, not a person. And so, she left him, the illusion of love broken. He was alone, naked in the dark, and filled with despair. He cried and cried, till he lost his sweet, angelic voice.

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The once-beautiful crow let out a last wail of anguish for the selfish peacock, and with that, took flight, first a black silhouette, then nothing.

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A peacock fluttered its almost flightless wings, and came to where the crow stood. It brandished its plumage, and the crow pecked its face. Maybe, just maybe, one day the shooting stars will really come down to earth.

A Feat Of Faith

Dedicated to Azmi and all those who stand resolute against the onslaught of the world.

A Feat Of Faith

I stood on a high cliff,
Peering down the crevice,
Pondering ancient myths,
and my heart that sinks.

Two platfroms towered above,
All I needed was to jump to one.
Jasmine petals fluttered like doves,
What soared higher, the scorching sun.

A leap of belief, was all I needed,
In my heart, a storm was my mood.
The light shone, in it I entered,
And I knew I should, I could and I would.

I jumped across the towers,
At the turn of the moment,
Amidst the weeping violet flowers,
My soul suddenly faltered.

Into the chasms of deep I fell,
Into the depths and fires of hell.
Veils of night covered the light,
But ne'er did my heart take flight.


END