I Am The Tweet-er King!

Well, not really...

but I did turn this:
Hazlan Zakaria commissions an excavation into the fortress ruins. Searching the labyrinthine halls for the soul library and its tome of understanding. Possibilities keeping his brain a-buzz and heart a-racing. He ponders the statue of the armoured figure in the fortress courtyard. How it seems to be smiling. Isn't this the lair of the somber? The last holdout of the sad king?
...into this:
I search the ruin of my soul for understanding. Wondering why I am still smiling. Am I not the somber sad king?

In order to fit it into The Malaysian Poetic Chronicles' tweet.

From 379 to 111 word count, including spaces.

Quite an exercise in editing. As The Chief Chronicler at The Malaysian Poetic Chronicles Leon puts it "Edit! Edit! Cut! Cut!"

It is an eye opener of sorts, now I know better what my Senior Editor Hani always felt, every day actually. As she struggles to make my work better and give it that extra... swell. As only she can.

I guess I do have this tendency to say things in an imaginative if roundabout way. It would do me well to sometimes be more direct.

Snip! Snip! Snip! I am still a long way from becoming a true-blue journalist let alone full-fledged editor.

Haruskah Kunyanyikan

Haruskah ku nyanyikan
perlukah ku katakan
segala dalam prasaan
hati yang telah tertawan

Hadirmu bagaikan salju
mengubat luka hatiku
suaramu bagaikan bayu
membelai melirik kalbu

Bagaikan mengejar bintang
menunggu bulan mengambang
kisahku terpandang-pandang
terkelu bila kau datang

Matamu memberikanku
harapan curi hatimu
senyummu meminggir ayu
memanggil-manggil diriku

Tapiku tiada kuasa
depanmu ku hilang punca
tuturku menjadi perca
dibuai kelu dan alpa

Bagaimana kan aku
luahkan rasa hatiku
apakah kan kau tahu
cintaku terhadapmu

Perlukah kulaungkan
kepada bintang dan bulan
semoga angin malam
membawa rasa terpendam

Kulampir sebuah lagu
kugubahkannya cintaku
buatmu puteri hatiku
semoga kau akan tahu

Kunyanyi dan kudendangkan
lagu ini berkumandang
aku cinta padamu sayang
sudi kau panggilku abang?

Kata-Kata Buat Fynn

Keramat puisi pujangga minda
srikandi Fynn pelopor budaya
meliuk seni melakar bahasa
mendukung tari irama kata.

Salam selamat ikhlas di tinta
dari saudara setutur sebangsa
moga berjaya di atas persada
aturan pencak rentak dan nada

Lagu Untuk Syamilah

Tiada indah dari dunia
alam hijau ciptaanNya
embun luhur usapan jiwa
bayu halus santapan alpa.

Tiada aman lunak suara
gelak tawa anak gembira
riuh rendah irama sempurna
keluarga indah anugerah dariNya.

Tiada tenang hati dan jiwa
selain tutur ayat kalimahNya
tasbih suci ibadah mulia
mendamai hati mencuci jiwa.

Swan Song

As I type these words, I know that they will probably be my last. The only worthwhile and hopefully lasting legacy, that I have to leave behind.

I have never thought much about it, first as a Corporate Mercenary in the Resource Wars and later on as a Hunter. Death seems to lurk behind every corner. I have thought that for me is a soldier's short life and the inevitable sudden violent end.

It is ironic, that my desperate and accidental stint with the resistance did actually woke within me this need and want for life. This huge capacity for love and an unbridled yearning to savour all that this world have to offer

It is as if I have never been truly alive before.

Never before...

Not before that long cold night in the Bavarian cemetery and subsequent return trip aboard the hovercopter to the Hunter Stronghold in Geneva. When I had my long and fateful talk with the Vampire Ancient Maximilian Tchaikovsy.

Good old Max.

Damn him and his suave words. I never did find out why he did what he did and why he chose me. All Max would tell me is that he saw something in me.

Cryptic to the last, his only comment was that he had a foretelling. That I was the one. The mortal that shall tip the scales of balance. Or was it back into balance? One can never be sure of a Vampire's words. And Max being Max, he was always slightly more obtuse than most, even amongst the Ancients.

Though I have grown fond of old Max, accustomed to his friendship and our long rambling talks.

I am going to miss him.

He came to visit me yesterday. Appearing suddenly out of the fog of night, as is the way of his kind, as I was manning my turn at watch on the ramparts above the bunker.

It was he that told me of the approaching enemy that wil soon extinguish me from this existance. He offered me a way out. Sly as always, he baited me with the fact that death will find me even if I somehow escaped this final trap. He offered me a place in his coterie, everlasting life and escape from my inevitable fate.

Unlife as one of the arisen.

I declined.

I would not want to lie now that the end is near. Yes, I am afraid of what may come, more than a little terrified actually. To pay this price that all living beings must finally succumb. But a distant part of me is intrigued to see what comes next after the end.

Though as the knowledge of my soon to be demise quickens within me, I feel strangely at peace with myself. I have seen much these last few years. Miracles and horrors that defy description. I have done and experienced things that most humans can scarcely even dream of.

I have lived and experienced life. More in these short months than ever before.

Yes I am afraid, but I am also quite content.

So I declined Max and his kind offer.

He told me to reconsider, for Sharna's sake at least, he pleaded.

It was then that I told him the heartbreaking news, that Sharna had already passed beyond the veil the day before. Her blessed life taken by a sniper's bullet as she led the last of the resistance's scouts in an effort to screen our retreat into the coms bunker.

Ironically my beloved was slain by another Sister of Skirmish, one of her own. The fatal bullet fired by one of the recruits that she herself trained when she still fought for Hunter Corp. When she was their best and most heartless assassin.

I know, for it is I who killed her assassin. Arriving in the hovercopter to rescue her and her team only to find their killers in the midst of finishing off the mortally wounded scouts and my Sharna dying.

When I first saw her, she was an assassin sent to kill me, now she lies cold and lifeless, in the medlab, her life given to protect my own. That is perhaps the greater irony.

Though come to think of it, the heavy assault Hunter Squads that will be coming to attack the coms bunker I am in and execute the kill order that is upon my head, will probably be the ones that I trained when I was a Hunter. They always send the best.


But regardless of who killed my Sharna and is going to kill me, at least she did not die alone, she died in my arms, the arms of her newly wedded husband. We decided to be wedded in the last few moments before the retreat. Dragging Ustaz Rahman out of his tent in the dead of night to sanctify our marital union.

Sealing our matrimony with the strangely unhurried lovemaking that was surprisingly tender and gentle, despite the pre-battle frenzy and our pent-up and close held desire we had for each other for so long.

Husband and wife for scarcely a day and a half. But I guess, in our case, it was a life time.

It was enough.

Though, the memory of her pretty face, sweet smile, soft smooth skin and sultry voice still threatens to unman me with tears every time I am reminded of my darling Sharna.

If he felt anything at all, Max never revealed them to me. But was he perhaps taken aback? Sharna was the only offspring of his great-great-great-great-great grand daughter, from the time before he was turned.

The only progeny he had that were the legacy of his loins than were his fangs.

Vampires are sterile, procreation to them is only through infecting other living beings and embracing them into their fold.

Max took it all in stride, philosophical as always. He said that it is sad that all that is best, good and noble of humanity are the ones that will suffer and perish, while the wicked and the evil ones thrive and survive.

Though maybe he was numbed and devastated by Sharna's passing. Even Vampires Ancients are not immune to emotions. Did I detect a slight tremor in his normally cool and frustratingly dry voice?

Whatever it was, it is something that I will never find out.

We bade our farewells, old Max and me. Punctuating our comradeship with one last long discussion about life and death. And everything else in between those two pivotal moments of a human's lifespan.

In a way, I think he envied me my coming respite, for he is doomed to carry on without the opportunity of that final rest nor the ability to truly savour life upon this sun swept world.

Max left slightly before dawn, vowing to avenge Sharna's death and my upcoming demise.

But now I too must bid my final farewell and end this missive. For I hear the crack of the big artillery guns from afar and the ever closing explosive thumps of the plasma artillery shells as they pound upon the bunker's shields.

It will not be long now before the shield falls and the hunters move in for the final kill.

Not long now...

Attached with this final missive is a data matrix that I and the members of the resistance have fought hard to compile these last few months. In the matrix is all the proof of the conspiracy between WorldGov and Hunter Corp to mislead and make use of the public for their own ends.

Including the statements of reliability and cover-up orders that followed this outrage against humanity.

First and foremost of which is the sealed report on the "Standard Normal Deviation" which has so doomed a percentage of the population of the end users of para-products to their dismal fates.

I am now activatng this data burst transmission to all WorldComs stations. As this bunker is part of the backbone WorldComs grid, this transmission will reach throughout the world and hopefully to all receiving stations.

I... we have done our part, now it is up to you. Brothers and sisters of the armed forces, it is time for you to turn your guns upon Hunter Corp and the corrupt WorldGov. It is they who are the real enemy of humanity.

And to the general populace, now is the time for truth, now is the time for you to know the real story. Raise your voices, raise your hands and correct this wrong that has been done upon you.

I leave you now to better times than mine was. I guess all that is left now is to pick up my rifle and join what's left of the resistance in our final stand. To buy time for this transmission to reach out to all of you.

Farewell... and good luck.

The Lonely Road

The lonely road, calls for me
that same, old sensation
an open door, that beckons he
a heart, afraid to listen

evening breeze, blew away
miles, in the-other direction
upon the asphalt, footsteps lay
hiding, behind the distance

dusty trail, marks the way
broken, hopes and dreams
left behind, from day to day
a road, fate has deemed

so I walk, the lonely road
pain, a bitter memory
far away, from the-one I love
against, what my heart breathe

an empty man, with hollow heart
afraid, to let it heal
a lonely man, with hurt inside
afraid, to once more feel.

Searching (Work In Progress)

I search for you at night
in the dark
when the whole world sleeps

hoping humble starlight
will unlock
the truth only you keep

I borrow from the moon
its seat
patient upon the zenith

scouring the inky loom
for bits
and pieces of faith.

The 'Briar Patch' of Life

I know I have vowed never again to let it happen... but there it is again.

I have been sidetracked of late, by noble causes and less than noble intentions.

Consumed by a battle that is not even mine, and embroiled in a war of which I was not even belligerent in.

Distracted as if by somber beauties from across the crowded dance floor, and derailed by their lilting tell tales of a thousand sleepless nights.

Aye, those are truly sweet nectar, that adrenaline rush of fighting for a cause, that indelible rut of a man enamoured.

But herein lies the causality of much pain, the Briar Patch of life.

Something which is better left untouched unless it is something that a person really wants and is willing to go the distance. Maybe I am all the above, considering the circumstance, but still I digress, for the lessons of previous pains beseech me and courage be damned, I dare not yet step into the lion's den and leave my much favoured sanctuary.

Sensuous, sinewy and sexy lionesses be damned, triply damned and thrice censured.

I must return to the core, to the very center of what and who I am. I must return to what I was. Status quo, without the quo vadis. For I have long ago discovered that the best condition for me is not to have any direction, but to float and hover in that blurry space just outside of mainstream life, yet still close enough to watch it.

For I am above all an observer of things. One who watches and compiles his analysis.

That being said, while I often abandon battlefield engagements before the war's conclusion, such as I am afraid now must be, there are some things that I just cannot leave undone. That I shall oversee until such a time as it is mine to sneak back into the sunset.

Not that it would matter, but principles must count for something, even for one who is detached from life such as me.

But in the end the only thing that matter is that "I am a Fortress, Strong and Impregnable."

I must be... I have no other choice.

I Miss Those Days

I miss the sea
its wavy ripples
sunny glints
and cozy curls

I miss the shore
those sandy walks
warm-cool sand
sinking footsteps

I miss the breeze
its gentle kisses
soft caress
silky breath

I miss the sun
its hopeful rise
elegant rest
soulful warmth

I miss those days
I miss you
I miss me
I miss us.
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