Baronhawk's Nest

Discordant voices rose in concert,
to critique Saudagar Najib's mimpi to construct,
a tower 100-storeys in magnitude,
in a KL a-glut with slow-trafficked malls,
unoccupied offices.

But they are blind to his genius,
cheap luxury goods famously branded,
will turn Malaysia into a haven,
a shopping paradise of for 'first ladies',
of all shapes and sizes.

Harken the conference recently held,
the monies spent and pomp ceremonious,
the self-gratification richly laid,
to a 'first lady' not,
who wants to becometh.

Hence the logic neatly compiled,
a new 100 storeys for a mall to fill,
cheap lingerie, perfumes, worked leather and frills,
the thrills that rose Najib to the occasion

Hence another phallic structure rose to fulfill
trusting above KL to rise and instill,
this pride self-evident in the rush to show,
hey Mahathir, my tower beats yours.

A five billion price tag stood,
as one man's one-upmanship brood,
more money than can be mortgaged
from petroleum dwindling, natural wealth drained.

The GLCs are being squeezed
to fork up the billions Najib wants to see
to fund his feel good fashion filled 'discounts'
what 'first lady' wants and fancies.

Political fangs already in their necks,
the GLCs are drained if not strapped,
with more holes poking collapsing jugular,
they will soon go bonkers at the bankers,
more rakyat's wealth poured down the goners.

But maybe this is the last of gasps,
the ruling coalition's final spree,
their bid to strip this country of cash,
clear our coffers before they run free.

Knowing their loss awaiting the ballot,
they deem this chance to turn the maggot
to eat us inside out and thence to flee
departing very rich once they are voted out.

But sadly still if we were to buy this wholesale
accept their goodies at face not value
to say 'we forgive you' and close our eyes
blinded by the gains of cheap thrills and spills.

Are we that shallow? the truth has been told,
as we often return the ballot to their choice,
voting our rights for mere Ringgits in the wallet,
as they get away with billions wrongly pocketed.

They say that we are stranded upon the earth
betwixt mortal grounds and eaves of heaven
...the skies the door to His Grace, the vestibule of His Faith
If such is the case, then birds and avians are His Messengers
who flit and float upon the currents, dancing the windy eddies
those who share that eternal secret, the gateway to paradise and back.

They rise with the sun and dive with the moon, skirting the in-between
delivering His Message to four corners and his boon to yon borders
chirps and happy chuckles singing of His Power, His Praise
the lilt of wings a breezy graceful counterpart to their traipse
But some deign to descend and spend their lives upon the ground
forgoing the free far skies for the company and love of Man(and woman).

Like all angels tenanting, the ranks of heaven-sent messengers,
their time are tied to reason, their praise endears them His Pardon
as all must make the final climb, that flight into the heavens
to break this mortal bond and face of His Benevolence
as we grieve, his time ended, as we breathe, celestial winds churned
let him go, to the crux of destinations, time and place as marked by Providence.

As he was borrowed, so must he now be returned.
Celebrate the memories, ignite the moments
for his time was not to make ye grieve
but to join him in His Praise.

* A poem written to commemorate the final journey of Conrad the Parrot, friend, family member and loyal companion to a dear friend, Janet Steele.

Still, unmoving
in silence standing
saddened by tidings
from ancestral 'steadings

a fire burns
the red in the ears
as vengeance calls
boiling blood stirs

the honour of race
lifeblood of culture
the sacredness of faith
caveat lingua franca

questioned and raised
discarded of value
dissected displaced
stripped of virtue

answer the call
these days of thunder
ride the squall
and come hither

seize the bugle
the pen and paper
join the struggle
with words and valour

be ye the vanguard
the edge and coda
the rising tide
of Melayu Muda.

* Malay version here

A little bit of RUMI to salve Auden's search in O Tell Me the Truth About Love, for there is no answer to what love is, but for the experience and deed of it. You can only know it when you find out and its only description is the notes of its song sung out.

EACH NOTE
by ...Rumi

Advice doesn't help lovers!
They're not the kind of mountain stream
you can build a dam across.

An intellectual doesn't know what the drunk is feeling!

Don't try to figure what those lost inside love will do next!

Someone in charge would give up all his power,
if he caught one whiff of the wine-musk
from the room where lovers are doing who-knows- what!

One of them tries to dig a hole through a mountain.
One flees from academic honors.
One laughs at famous mustaches!

Life freezes if it doesn't get a taste
of this almond cake.
The stars come up spinning
every night, bewildered in love.
They'd grow tired with that revolving, if they weren't.
They'd say, "How long do we have to Do this!"

God picks up the reed-flute world and blows.
Each note is a need coming through one of us,
a passion, a longing-pain.

Remember the lips
where the wind-breath originated,
and let your note be clear.
Don't try to end it .
BE Your Note.
I'll show you how it's enough.

Go up on the roof at night
in the city of the soul.

Let Everyone climb on their roofs
and sing their notes!

Sing loud

What do you do when you find something great
do you reach out and take it or do you wait?

But reaching out risks losing out
if and when the venture doesn't work out.

While waiting's just too much
to have your heart wrenched
on a regular basis.

Eff Eff Effing it!

Lucky you can always run to your Penang Hermit cave and hide out.