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.

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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.

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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