Baronhawk's Nest

Green is your colour,
"green" is your name,
green are the eyes,
which beheld your fame.

Rectangular pieces,
cut-out paper,
all soiled with ink,
and the stink of sin.

Yet, we seek you out,
yes, and even I,
these weightless tokens,
that weighs more than gold!

We don't eat you,
we don't drink you,
We certainly do not breathe you,
and yet we crave you more than life itself.

We fight for you,
struggle with you,
wish for you,
kill and die for you.

Why? An oft asked question,
an enigma to many minds,
the cause and claimant,
to many deaths and of many lives.

What secret,
behind you textured surface lies,
of diagrammed designs,
and sinister gleams.

I can only ask,
and beg your answer,
for you as always,
would and shall remain... cold, frail, indifferent.

Immune to censure,
inured to blame,
silent to the ears,
but torrential to the heart.

Perhaps I should ask,
the great John Maynard Keynes,
or the market voices,
to whom thou art tied and weaned.

But I should as well,
give birth to golden eggs,
for the answer would and always be,
take more than you would need.

You are the "fragrant grease",
"the stuff of life",
both the God and Children of men,
the big GREEN, hallelujah the G-R-E-E-N!

What?
Why?
No matter!
I am just gonna go and get me some...
and more and more.

Today I had, a rude awakening,
in the ivory towers, of Selangor Dredging,
I was shell shocked, struck dumb... and left unmoving,
Like a wildly flailing puppet, suddenly... without its string.

Here was this man, this seasoned poet king,
with dictioned hoof, witty horns and entailed chiding,
exploding white hot, with brimstone... thunder... and lightning,
flashing wicked eyes, sinister smile and a terrible... terrible warning.

"To thee who blindly follow,
and ape the poets of yore,
By God! Shall I strike thee down,
and severely crush... thy bollocks!"

Not in actual words of course, nor absolute in its telling,
but perhaps with a little bit, of my own... paraphrasing,
I do beg your pardon, all those... attending,
do excuse me my practice, of poetic... licensing.

But from his sacred gaping maw, that strophe did sound,
In a voice that lilts, with a pleasingly British accent,
though it starts with a "lovely, lovely", with a pall... it ends,
The blackest of clouds , upon which my parade... did rain.

You must always speak he says, with a voice that is all your own,
and bring to deeper depths, in a voice that seeks your audience,
why do you seek the sun? Which in the twilight has fallen,
when you have a clear blue sky, to shine... enrich and enliven.

Thus so he said, with that aptly... mocking smile,
as I to the mattresses did, sound... the warning bell,
with Smith & Wesson, Winchester and Tommy Gun,
I prepared an oration, with wit and curdled pun.

Then "Bam!" I stopped, as reason came flooding in,
"whoosh" it sounded, calm... gentle... reassuring,
sweeping through the room, like some prodigal son returning,
replacing flaming anger, with calm thoughts and logical thinking,

For even the great Shakespeare, in the plays if not poetry of his time,
used only the language, and prose of the common man,
maybe I should borrow, and ape this aptly stance,
and start to talk and speak, in the language of this... land.

By God! Damn it! Manglish is a real language,
a much used and practiced, Malaysian English,
with all the "alamak", "ayoyo" and "haiya",
and greatest of all, the all encompassing "lah".

along with the occasional "I say" and "Jolly good",
gutten tag and danke schor, au revoir and mon cherie,
and the starving poet's, "Ohhh...more food"
"arigato" "shigata nai", "marhaban" and "ya habibi"

So stand we tall, with cries of "Malaysia boleh",
Straddling this world, like KLCC's towers of Petronas,
shout out loud, clear and well defiined,
We are Malaysian, and this our voice!