A Knight's Boon (Act 1: Leave of Absence)

I crave a boon my liege
upon this holy day
on bended knee I pledge
my suit and humble say

I beg thy gracious leave
from thine most famous halls
to find my just reprieve
a knight on errand's call

Upon a quest I ride
to the solace of the roads
to bend a lusty heart
and soothe a savage soul

That I might slay the beast
and return to the land
its most deserved peace
this heavy heart of mine

I Hear Murmurings (Glad Tidings, Sad Rekindlings)

Pause forward
play rewind
I hear the news
so many times
things that was
is and hence.

Happy for some
sad for others
incapable to react
to most
to the rest
inexplicably numb.

I hear it artificial like
far off indistinct
yet too afraid
to find out
from your mouth
full on straight.

I am happy
you found new dreams
but sad
there's no intersecting
yours and mine
no in between

All the best
to you and him
God grant you both
the best everything
my fondest wish
your happy tidings.

Intruding Upon My Fancies

I begin to count backwards to ten, holding my breath all the time. And yet after that was over, I am still as nervous as hell and jittery down to a tee. I have thought myself beyond these childish fancies. These unsolicited raw emotive moments. But I am still its victim, just as I was those days in kindergarten. This is not the way I hoped to be reminded of how it was like to be young!

I tried to shift my vision, tried hard. But my eyes continue to tail that visage, consciously in life, unconsciously in dreams, subconsciously in mind and surreptitiously upon these pages of facebook. Trapped in this merry-go-round of constant peekings, clickings, surfings and involuntary thinking. Sighing and pining away what is good to go primo and productive time line, into fast footed and flighty fancies of the mind.

I am 32, soon to be 33 this year, yet I am already jaded way beyond my time. Cynical to the core, a frustrated and in-congruent man. Encased within the encapsulated morose memories and bitter reminders of life's many frailties. Enough to burn away though the cheerfulness of a thousand lifetimes. And yet this pixie somehow got though, in too near and is dancing and running her way all through my mind. Leaving tasty footprints and wistful smiles upon these lips of mine.

I refuse to believe in hope. This is just one of those tease. The under influence moments that will lead you astray only to leave you high and dry, come the sobering moments that always dawns upon reality's morning. Begone foul spirit, take thee along thy beautiful body, keen intellect, attractive visage and hauntingly 3D surround sound. Thy voice which seeks to drown me in the memory of thine eyes. Thy titillatingly tingly proposal of a life without worldly wiles, a life of only you and I... away with thee! Away with thee... away with thee?

Let me be, let me be, alone and bereft, to atone. Let me be, let me drown in the sins that yesteryear has borne. Let me be, let me be, the one, the mountain and the stone. Let me be, let me be, a fortress impregnable and strong.

Let me be ...or maybe should I hunt,track down and kill this annoying pixie?

That Feel-ing

It fills the reeds
the husks of seeds
a cradle-ing
in between

the sound it makes
the feel it beats
a listen-ing
dead air speaks

it follows feet
shadow-busy streets
a company-ing
souls that seek

it falls like rain
low pressure din
a crush-ing
hearts that shrink

it rips apart
sinews to shards
a claw-ing
un-subtle hints

it breeds from scenes
of might have beens
a dream-ing
un-spoke of hymns.

The Watcher

It was difficult but necessary. One of those decisions that many of us watchers ask ourselves about but try not to think of. I sat on my seat in front of the control panel and watched through the main view screen as the entire colony burned to ground.

For good measure, I flicked my finger upon the controls to send down another rain of incendiary bombs to wipe clean any trace of the colony, making sure that everything is reduced to cinders.

10,000 lives lost. Another failed experiment. They never listen to reason. Don't they understand. I am only trying to make a better life for them out here. I only want to save them from themselves.

They never listen. Rules are rules for a reason.

Well, its back to the drawing board.

I am not going to have a substandard colony on my hands. Any colony I set up must be perfect. Perfect... or it should never be at all.

I signaled the colony ship to thaw out another 10,000 colonists and send down another batch of factory bots to construct a new colony on Eden.

Tomorrow I shall begin again. hmm... I might have to signal earth for another colony ship with a fresh shipment of bots and colonist. They don't seem to make 'em like they used to. The bots beak easily and the colonists are getting more useless by the batch.

The job of a colony overseer is never easy. But it is our duty to ensure that everything is perfect, and it is all done right. Everyone wants a good colony, but nobody wants to do the work. Except us watchers.

Some balk at the cybernetic enhancements that watchers go trough to ensure that they can survive the rigours of interstellar travel without being transported in the cryo capsules. The necessary modifications to allow a watcher to survive the long periods needed to seed and colonize a world. Indeed with the enhancements, a watcher is almost immortal.

Some say that the person inside the shell of a watcher is no longer human, devoid of feelings, devoid of... soul. But then, that is the purpose of a watcher. To keep the eternal watch. To seed the cold stars with the warmness of life and seed the human genome to the dust of stars themselves.

It is a hard job, a noble duty. One that I am sworn to upkeep. Whatever the cause, whatever the price. No matter how many colonists and bots it would take, the costs are immaterial. I WILL have a string of perfect colonies in the Beta Irridani cluster before next comet fall!

A Mish-Mash of Many Things

I am supposed to be writing my article for work now, or at least I am trying to, through the drug-induced haze of time-stealing drowsiness. But I was distracted by a friend's note that was imported into Facebook from her blog.

It is a quite-not-so-blatant promotional campaign by none other then Ms. Sheena Baharuddin whose performance of poetry gig is coming up tomorrow. 14th January 8.30 m at the Annexe central market, the ubiquitous Wayang Kat VII.

She will be joining the likes of local talent Priya K, Rafique Rashid and Nell Omar to accompany Steve Camden a.k.a. Polarbear unto the annexe stage. From what I know of and about her, the others and Steve/Polarbear, it promises to be a splash of funky good time for everyone.

I will do my darndest to show up in support, if I can get past my flu and/or effecting meds.

Anyway, I am still working from home after finding out first hand that when the little red label on the med packs says "may cause drowsiness. Do not drive or operate heavy machinery if affected", it means it without prejudice and with all the intensity its red letters can provide.

That and when the little red label is pasted on more than one of your many med packs, you probably are going to get drowsy from one of them.

Luckily there were no visible scratches on my means of conveyance that was not already there and my injured finger from the woozy door slamming incident is all the injury I have to show for it. That and my dented pride and ego. Apparently I am not indestructible, incapable of sleep-driving nor as drug resistant as I thought I was.

Oh well, I am still alive and if I want to stay so I need to get back to my articles lest my senior editor and managing editor tear my heart out. Bon chance to everyone!

A Requiem To Hate

"Nothing breeds that amber darkness
more than misbegotten hate
the rift that feeds into the fastness
of a twisted melancholy fate."

Tales of The Reluctant Mercenary Vol 1

It was a hastily arrived at decision, one made over a particularly bad weekend. One that followed a rather particularly stress filled week. But looking back at the events of the last month or so, I somehow feel that this was one of those things that was probably meant to be.

Well... it has to be.

For I am now seated at the back of a bus with about a dozen or so others, as the dilapidated vehicle makes its way to the MERCY Malaysia aid station on the Egyptian border with Palestine.

I had quit my job with the fledgling online current affairs portal and liquidated all my assets, the few that there were, settled the debts that I can, made my peace with my family, bade farewell to the few friends that I still have and put in my application to volunteer with several aid organizations with operations in and around terror stricken Palestine.

As it turned out MERCY Malaysia and several other allied aid organization were in need of someone to man their IT operations on site. They needed somebody to maintain a website for their operations near the Palestine border as well as clock in regular updates and reports. Quite my bailiwick of course.

On the flip side I am also to assist in their logistical operations as I need to help out with their scheduling, shipment and actually help to move supplies in and out of their main depot. Another area my checkered employment background has provided me with the necessary skills and experience with.

Or maybe they were short of volunteers. Regardless I got into their volunteer rolls and here I am.

Donning The Keffiyah (Reprieve For Palestine)

With every bullet
from every gun
and every bomb
from every plane

As the minions
of Israel come
I raise my head
to stake this claim

With every drop
of pristine blood
and every body
the Palestine buries

I place the keffiyeh
over my head
a stolid agal
to hold in place

donning the cloth
taking the cause
a unified voice
that spans the globe

I pen this now
out clear and loud
the killing must stop
the violence resolved

for the bloodied red
o'er black and white
for Palestine's plight
the keffiyah's symbol

take up your pens
raise up your voices
pledge your dinars
shoulder your rifles.

Feed & Fodder (Reprieve for Palestine)

Screeching cannons
screaming guns
filling skies
o'er Palestine.

whistling bullets
whizzing bombs
that tears flesh
of humankind

jutting fingers
jaded eyes
o'er triggers
death's pale stare

women children
men old young
the feed and fodder
of arrogant war.
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