Who Dares To Take This Life From Me, Knows No Better
I
An important thing in living
Is to know when to go;
He who does not know this
Has not far to go,
Though death may come and go
When you do not know.
Come, give me your hand,
Together shoulder and cheek to shoulder
We'll go, sour kana in cheeks
And in the mornings cherry sticks
To gum: the infectious chilli smiles
Over touch-me-not thorns, crushing snails
From banana leaves, past
Clawing outstretched arms of the bougainvillea
To stone the salt-bite mangoes.
Tread carefully through this durian kampong
For the ripe season has pricked many a sole.
II
la la la tham'-pong
Let's go running intermittent
To the spitting, clucking rubber fruit
And bamboo lashes through the silent graves,
Fresh sod, red mounds, knee stuck, incensing joss sticks
All night long burning, exhuming, expelling the spirit.
Let's scour, hiding behind the lowing boughs of the hibiscus
Skirting the school-green parapet thorny fields.
Let us now squawk, piercing the sultry, humid blanket
In the shrill wakeful tarzan tones,
Paddle high on.the swings
Naked thighs, testicles dry.
Let us now vanish panting on the climbing slopes
Bare breasted, steaming rolling with perspiration,
Biting with lalang burn.
Let us now go and stand under the school
Water tap, thrashing water to and fro.
Then steal through the towkay's
Barbed compound to pluck the hairy
Eyeing rambutans, blood red, parang in hand,
And caoutchouc pungent with peeling.
Now scurrying through the estate glades
Crunching, kicking autumnal rubber leavings,
Kneading, rolling milky latex balls,
Now standing to water by the corner garden post.
III
This is the land of the convectional rains
Which vie on the monsoon back scrubbing streets
This is the land at half-past four
The rainbow rubs the chilli face of the afternoon
And an evening-morning pervades the dripping, weeping
Rain tree, and gushing, tumbling, sewerless rain drains
Sub-cutaneously eddy sampan fed, muddy, fingerless rivers
Down with crocodile logs to the Malacca Sea.
This is the land of stately dipterocarp, casuarina
And coco-palms reeding north easterly over ancient rites
Of turtle bound breeding sands.
This is the land of the chignoned swaying bottoms
Of sarong-kebaya, sari and cheongsam.
The residual perch of promises
That threw the meek in within
The legs of the over-eager fledgelings.
The land since the Carnatic conquerors
Shovelling at the bottom of the offering mountains
The bounceable verdure brought to its bowers
The three adventurers.
A land frozen in a thousand
Climatic, communal ages
Wags its primordial bushy tail to the Himalayas
Within a three cornered monsoon sea -
In reincarnate churches
And cracker carousels.
The stranglehold of boasting strutting pedigrees
And infidel hordes of marauding thieves,
Where pullulant ideals
Long rocketed in other climes
Ride flat-foot on flat tyres.
IV
Let us go then, hurrying by
Second show nights and jogget parks
Listening to the distant whinings of wayangs
Down the sidewalk frying stalls on Campbell Road
Cheong-Kee mee and queh teow plates
Sateh, rojak and kachang puteh
(rediffusion vigil plates)
Let us then dash to the Madras stalls
To the five cent lye chee slakes.
la la la step stepping
Each in his own inordinate step
Shuffling the terang bulan.
Blindly buzzes the bee
Criss-crossing
Weep, rain tree, weep
The grass untrampled with laughter
In the noonday sobering shade.
Go Cheena-becha Kling-qui Sakai
V
Has it not occurred to you how I sat with you
dear sister, counting the chicking back of the
evening train by the window sill and then
got up to wind my way down the snake infested rail
to shoo shoo the cows home to brood
while you gee geaed the chicks to coop
and did we not then plan of a farm
a green milking farm to warm the palm
then turned to scratch the itch over in our minds
lay down on the floors, mat aside
our thoughts to cushion heads
whilst dug tapioca roots heaped the dream
and we lay scrapping the kernel-less
fiber shelled coconuts
O Bhama, my goatless daughter kid
how I nursed you with the callow calves
those mutual moments forced in these common lives
and then, that day when they sold you
the blistering shirtless sun never flinching
an eye, defiant I stood caressing your creamy coat
and all you could say was a hopeless baaa..a..aa
and then, then, that day as we came over the mountains
two kids you led to the thorny brush, business bent
the eye-balling bharata natyam
VI
O masters of my fading August dream
For should you take this life from me
Know you any better
Than when children we have joyously romped
Down and deep in the August river
Washing on the mountain tin.
Now on the growing granite's precipitous face
In our vigilant wassail
Remember the children downstream playing
Where your own little voices are speechless lingering
Let it not be simply said that a river flows
to flourish a land
More than that he who is high at the source
take heed:
For a river putrid in the cradle is worse
than the plunging flooding rain.
And the eclectic monsoons may have come
Have gathered and may have gone
While the senses still within torrid membranes
thap-pong
thap-poooooong
thap-pong
Glossary of Vernacular Terms
Notes to « Who dares to take this life from me, knows no better »
I - line: 9 - sour kana: dried, salted seed of local fruit, taken as a ‘sweet'.
10 - cherry sticks: finely chopped end of the thin branch of the cherry tree, used as tooth-brush.
12 - touch-me-not-thorns: commonly growing thorn brush, hugging the ground, with leaves highly sensitive to the touch.
14 - bougainvillea: flowering tropical plant with large bright-coloured bracts covered with thorns.
15. - mangoes: fleshy fruit with big seed, yellowish-red skin colour, eaten either ripe or green with salt.
16. - durian: towering East-Indian tree bearing a large heavily-spiked oval fruit containing pulp notable for its fetid smell.
16. - kampong: native Malay village.
II - line:
1. - la la la tham'-pong: form of ceremonious uttering employed by children when choosing sides to a game.
5. - joss sticks: Chinese incense sticks, of fragrant tinder mixed with clay, plentiful at a funeral.
7. - hibiscus: shrub cultivated as hedge or fence at schools, etc., and flower of a blood- red hue, the Malayan national flower.
15. - lalang: (imperata cyclindrica) aggressive weed flourishes by means of its underground runners, a sword-like posture, pricks the skin, found almost everywhere in Malaya.
18. - towkay: Chinese form of address for proprietor or landed gentry in Malaya.
20. - rambutan: amongst the finest fruits of the East, is a widely cultivated Malayan fruit, with varieties dark red in appearance and covered with hair-like growths- like a Gorgon-head.
20. - parang: heavy Malay sheath-knife.
24.- latex: sticky milky fluid of rubber plant.
III - line:
7. - sampan: a small rowing-boat of Chinese origin, a common feature of Malayan rivers.
9. - dipterocarp: biggest and tallest tree of the Malayan jungle variety.
9. - casuarinas: quick-growing Australian and East-Indian tree found mostly on Malayan beaches, with jointed leafless branches resembling gigantic horse-tails.
13. - sarong-kebaya: Malay women's two-piece national costume.
- sari: Indian women's main garment of wear.
- cheongsam: Chinese one-piece dress with high slits up the sides of thighs.
IV - line:
2. - jogget: modern Malay dance of Latin variety.
3. - wayang: Malay word for show; here referring to Chinese opera.
4. - Campbell Road: popular street in Kuala Lumpur, famous for Chinese food stalls,
open deep into the night.
5. - Cheong-Kee: name of famous Chinese caterer.
- mee, queh teow: varieties of Chinese-Malayan fried noodle dishes.
6. - sateh, rojak: two popular highly spiced Malay varieties of food.
- kachang puteh: Malay for fried ground nuts.
7. - rediffusion: radio station offering ceaseless music in all the vernacular for the better part of the day and night in the capital Kuala Lumpur.
8. - Madras stall: Chinese food and drink stalls in the capital's Chinatown.
9. - lye chee: popular Chinese cool sobering drink, served with the flesh of the fruit of the same name and its juice.
12. - terang bulan: popular lilting Malay melody, now the theme of the national anthem of the newly-formed independent Federation of Malaya.
15. rain tree: (enterolobium saman, mimosacene) whose Malay name is ‘Hujan-hujan', though not a native tree is now widely grown along streets and in gardens, characteristic tree of Malaya today.
18. - Cheena-becha - derogative reference to the Chinese.
- K'ling-qui: derogative reference to the Indians.
- Sakai: derogative reference to the Malays.
V - line:
12. - tapioca: (cassava) quick-growing plant with edible tuberous roots. Staple diet of Malayans during the Second World War.
15. - Bhama: name of one of the spouses of Krishna, the Hindu God; here refers to an orphaned kid I raised as a pet in my childhood.
VI - line:
1. - August dream: Independence granted to the Federation of Malaya on 30th August 1957.
20. - thap-pong, etc.: rhythmic sound of the Malay indigenous drum in slow tempo, spaced out deliberately, and to which beat the Malays perform their national dance, the Ronggeng.
(©: T. Wignesan - Heidelberg,1957; from Tracks of a Tramp. Kuala Lumpur-Singapore: Rayirath Publications,1961.ISBN 978-2-904428-00-5)
poem by T. Wignesan
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Related quotes
Visit Malaysia Year - Newton Food Court (State of Malacca)
Newton
every stall splashes its best
on the wall
Newton
Malacca's new age
hawkers
Here at Malacca Newton foodcourt is one of the model hawker's
food outlet. There are sections for Chinese, Indian and Malay food.
The Chinese cuisine can be found at the fore, the Indian at the side and the Malay at the back of the food court. Each hawker stall has his own space to showcase his food including in the form of large pictures on the wall. You see at the back of every stall, large tasteful fare such as satay, popiah, chi cheong fun, herbal soups, porridge, fried oysters, char koey tiaw among others. There are some 30 Chinese stalls,10 Malay and eight Indian stalls. The environment is clean with wooden tables and chairs, and large Chinese lanterns hanging from the ceiling. There are sections where one can dine open air styled.
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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I saw a tree a-falling...
I saw a tree a-falling
a-falling down on me
I had no way to turn
it was close on me
I thought it was a plot
to force me out
I knew I could not
even hold it or shout
It was a tree I sheltered
on many a longing day
And now it was so altered
coming to make me pay
I asked it why it longed
to touch its upmost brim
When all around no foe
turned the sun down dim
I touched its bark to hear
I thought I heard a cry
Two leaves it shed on me
and brushed its bark up high
I asked it why it stood
alone and left to brood
It shook its sticks in emphasis
as if to say it was good
(©: T. Wignesan - Kuala Lumpur,1957, from Tracks of a Tramp. Kuala Lumpur-Singapore: Rayirath Publications,1961.)
poem by T. Wignesan
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First Encounter - Ng Yen Yen
Ng Yen Yen
a character from my favourite
wang mei tiau movie?
The Tourism Minister Datuk Seri Ng Yen Yen reminds me of the characters in the Chinese period Wang Mei Tiau movies. Indeed she loves to wear a colourful shawl over her Kebaya (Malay influenced blouses with fine embellishment at the edges that accentuate the waist and long skirts. The women in Wang Mei Tiau Chinese period movies cover up their physiques, legs and hands included, in lengthy costumes. Wang Mei Tiau movies were a hit in the 60s and movies like Liang San Pe and Zhu Ying Tai and Hua Mulan are known all over the Chinese world. We met at a media dinner at the Royale Chulan Hotel in Kuala Lumpur in 2009 to introduce Jean Todt as an
ambassador of Tourism.
.
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Malaysiana - The Malays
A rare gem sparkling in the Tropics
Longing to be appraised; a people of the Golden
Chersonese, their lingo so rich you can find
Strong traces of the whole world here!
Their land located on the crossroads between
The East and the West predestined to
Play cupid between the Orient and the
Occident, themselves the best examples
Of the romances of inter-racial nuptials,
The Malay features reflecting a rich
Variations of Arab, Thai, Indian, Chinese
As well as some Caucasian traits.
Hinduism, Buddhism and Islam successively
Swept through the archipelago, the nuances
Of which can be felt in the
Malay court rituals especially Hinduism
And Islam. The Malay people wondrusly pushed into
A wide array of world progresses and
Experiences that result in a race blessed
With a rich culture and language.
The Malay heart precipitates a dazzling
Tropical fusion tune chiming and tinkling
with varied scintillating cross cultural novelties
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Don’t be an uprooted Tree
Seed is sown and the embryo is formed
Legitimate or not, radicle develops into root
Root penetrates into the surface of the soil
Absorbs water and food, turns seed into plant
Inherits the culture of the earth beneath.
It’s in root science that, it moves in
Right direction to fetch the exact need.
Stem gives the support and balance to stand
Branches form the vitality of the plant
Leaves prepare the food to survive
Bearing even odds the plant grows into tree.
As long as deep roots embraces mother earth
The tree shows confidence and attracts.
Location and depth are the might of the tree
Flower, fruit, shade, firm soil, H2O and CO2
Vary from tree to tree, but all owe to root
Never there is an existence beyond this means.
Still human trees surrender under the pressures
Try to get uprooted from the surface and means
Hoping for better flower, fruit, soil and breeze
Truth is, an uprooted tree, a timber, put to ablaze.
-vidi-
22-04-08
poem by Vidi Writes
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Golu
ONCE I had a little sweetheart
In the land of the Malay,—
Such a little yellow sweetheart!
Warm and peerless as the day
Of her own dear sunny island,
Keimah, in the far, far East,
Where the mango and banana
Made us many a merry feast.
Such a little copper sweetheart
Was my Goln, plump and round,
With her hair all blue-black streaming
O'er her to the very ground.
Soft and clear as dew-dropp clinging
To a grass blade was her eye;
For the heart below was purer
Than the hill-stream whispering by.
Costly robes were not for Golu:
No more raiment did she need
Than the milky budding breadfruit,
Or the lily of the mead;
And she was my little sweetheart
Many a sunny summer day,
When we ate the fragrant guavas,
In the land of the Malay.
Life was laughing then. Ah! Golu,
Do you think of that old time,
And of all the tales I told you
Of my colder Western clime?
Do you think how happy were we
When we sailed to strip the palm,
And we made a lateen arbor
Of the boat-sail in the calm?
They may call you semi-savage,
Golu! I cannot forget
How I poised my little sweetheart
Like a copper statuette.
Now my path lies through the cities;
But they cannot drive away
My sweet dreams of little Golu
And the land of the Malay.
poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
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Malayan Race
past a centuries live, thousands and millions of
different races, from the mountainous ranges to the
splendid nature landscape that curtain the virgin forest
as the wild animals of the jungle lives with high sea, facing
the magnificent horizon of majestic beauty of creation, comes
the birth of the continent of Asia, the endless treasure of man's
dream of living in the most luxury paradise of blessing and a land
with full of earthly blessing
Pacific blue ocean washes its marvelous wave to the
wandering seashore of promises amongst Conqueror and
Conquistadores of the west, the alluring beauty envy the hungry
visionaries of interest, offering the night of thieves, the treasure
that can't be taken, where bloods bath the crystal water of the bladed
swords, guns and canon from the window of the smelled balls of canon
of boats and garrison, portly to defend the angry and thirsty barbarian of
unwanted visitor and demonic race of the past
millions come stand the waving hands of fear, foot
with different shield to defend the mighty power with
no fear, the hope to survive, forwarding only the strength
of the heart, where the soul lies the sting of death, never been
conquer and surrender the hour of believing that not the mighty
force of the east, can't stop the sunset to hold the glamour of the heart
to live, beyond the blood of any fear amongst nation of warrior of fighters
to hold until death comes in the most waited
feature lives every spirit of men from the mountainous
hills and river, down to the great sea pads of the high sea,
unified to stand and defend the given land; a gift beyond gift
of live of creation, as every memories lingers in each hearts the
Malayan races have witness and conquer every trial of souls in
our continent
live and stand with us, the heart is full and the brave
spirit lives in our dominion, the Malayan rise comes to
existence for peace, and unity amongst neighboring nation, but
fight to the end with a victor of blood lives in every sword that stands
harmony the Malayan race salute, the forever of our
heart and the blood of our freedom....... never been defeated
but a conqueror of every fight in every land.....long live the Malayan
race
' this poem is dedicated to the Malay Race '
poem by Antonio Liao
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The Creation of the Moon
The man cut his throat and left his head there.
The others went to get it.
When they got there they put the head in a sack.
Farther on the head fell out onto the ground.
They put the head back in the sack.
Farther on the head fell out again.
Around the first sack they put a second one that
was thicker.
But the head fell out just the same.
It should be explained that they were taking the head
to show to the others.
They did not put the head back in the sack.
They left it in the middle of the road.
They went away.
They crossed the river.
But the head followed them.
They climbed up a tree full of fruit
to see whether it would go past.
The head stopped at the foot of the tree
and asked them for some fruit.
So the men shook the tree.
The head went to get the fruit.
Then it asked for some more.
So the men shook the tree
so that the fruit fell into the water.
The head said it couldn't get the fruit from there.
So the men threw the fruit a long way
to make the head go a long way to get it so they could go.
While the head was getting the fruit
the men got down from the tree and went on.
The head came back and looked at the tree
and didn't see anybody
so went on rolling down the road.
The men had stopped to wait
to see whether the head would follow them.
They saw the head come rolling.
They ran.
They got to their hut they told the others that the head
was rolling after them and to shut the door.
All the huts were closed tight.
When it got there the head commanded them to open the doors.
The owners would not open them because they were afraid.
So the head started to think what it would turn into.
If it turned into water they would drink it.
If it turned into earth they would walk on it.
If it turned into a house they would live in it.
If it turned into a steer they would kill it and eat it.
If it turned into a cow they would milk it.
If it turned into a bean they would cook it.
If it turned into the sun
When men were cold it would heat them.
If it turned into rain the grass would grow and the
animals would crop it.
So it thought, and it said, "I will turn into the moon."
It called, "Open the doors, I want to get my things."
They would not open them.
The head cried. It called out, "At least give me
my two balls of twine."
They threw out the two balls of twine through a hole.
It took them and threw them into the sky.
It asked them to throw it a little stick too
to roll the thread around so it could climb up.
Then it said, "I can climb, I am going to the sky."
It started to climb.
The men opened the doors right away.
The head went on climbing.
The men shouted, "You going to the sky, head?"
It didn't answer.
As soon as it got to the Sun
it turned into the Moon.
Toward evening the Moon was white, it was beautiful.
And the men were surprised
to see that the head had turned into the Moon.
The Cherry Tree
The Cherry Tree
There was a Cherry Tree,
In our house at Number Three;
‘T was a variety from Singapore,
Presented by a friend, now no more.
On the western side of our house,
To be away from the straying cows;
It was planted—a sapling, rare,
And nurtured with ample care.
Soon with shoots it grew tall,
And was high above the compound wall;
Pride in us did surely swell,
To behold the tree growing so well,
Its branches now did spread and sprawl,
And to the next house too it did crawl;
Its shade permeated through to the hall,
And ushered in cool breeze to us all.
The white blossoms of the cherry,
Drew swarms of bees—so merry,
Raw green cherries then popped,
Which turned bright red and dropped.
The green tree with cherries so red,
Was like an ornament with rubies studded;
It was sure a splendid sight,
Even in the glow of the moon-lit night.
The cherry fruits tasted very sweet,
Though for some it wasn't a treat;
To crush a fruit ‘twixt your teeth'
A current of joy ran underneath.!
Many were the children of the street,
Who vied for the cherries so sweet;
They'd climb the tree, up to pick,
And fill their pockets till there were sick.
The crows would claim the tree their own,
And feed the nestlings with cherries grown,
Dawn would hail the cuckoo's spree,
With its sonorous call from atop the tree.
Under the shade of the cherry tree,
On the landing of stairs, with glee,
I've oft with it mute communion held,
And there, have many a poem, spelled.
This Cherry Tree, so much prized,
After eight years was much disguised;
Alas! It lost its branches and was browned,
With out-stretched limbs, to be razed to ground! .
The Cherry Tree is now no more,
As I pen this, I miss it as ne'er before;
But to eye its photograph, my heart does leap,
And a warmth in me does truly seep!
poem by Chandra Thiagarajan
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One Malaysia, One World
i say friend, look at the malay face
look at as many as possible
a wave of emotions
spilling from the mountains
and hills all over
so well blended they are
the real one malaysia brand
my friend, read through the malay scripts
a rain of tongues start falling from
mountains, hills, rivers, and shores
sanskrit, english, portuguese, germans
arabic, they inch their way from
some remotest part of history and world
they dance like the rarest form of dance
on the corridors of thoughts
a world language quietly taking root
One World, One Malaysia
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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For example, in Malay, there are pronunciations that are similar to Chinese.
The three is growing now
From another land
From another aid of a hand
Where dry seasons is like fall
Where the bushes are green and tall
The tree is growing now
Into the sea and out of the sunset
Where great tides are known to set
Where the wind blow as hard and cold
I see no rain, or loam of soil to call gold
But the tree is growing now
Fro and to the blue of the cloud
Where the storm is as loud
The heart weeps and sleeps as fair
The children are as timid as au pair
But the tree is growing now
Into the cemetery and out of the ground
Where the death is as lavish as soothing sound
The lost is moaned, and the living is brave
The woman is running to ease her grave
But the tree is growing now
From the birth of a child
Where he play his part as mild
The world was sweet as a lime
And the years, days, with all the time
But the tree is still growing now
poem by william Dadeah Jr.
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To His Two Children
In the land of Wu the mulberry leaves are green,
And thrice the silkworms have gone to sleep.
In East Luh where my family stay,
I wonder who is sowing those fields of ours.
I cannot be back in time for the spring doings,
Yet I can help nothing, traveling on the river.
The south wind blowing wafts my homesick spirit
And carries it up to the front of our familiar tavern.
There I see a peach tree on the east side of the house
With thick leaves and branches waving in the blue mist.
It is the tree I planted before my parting three years ago.
The peach tree has grown now as tall as the tavern roof,
While I have wandered about without returning.
Ping-yang, my pretty daughter, I see you stand
By the peach tree and pluck a flowering branch.
You pluck the flowers, but I am not there
How your tears flow like a stream of water!
My little son, Po-chin, grown up to your sister's shoulders,
You come out with her under the peach tree,
But who is there to pat you on the back?
When I think of these things, my senses fail,
And a sharp pain cuts my heart every day.
Now I tear off a piece of white silk to write this letter,
And send it to you with my love a long way up the river.
I am hopeless
If I am a bird
I can fly any land
I can rest any tree
I can eat any fruit
I can drink any water
If I am a rain
I can wet any land
I can walk any street
I can swim any river
I can touch anyone
If I am a wind
I can feel any land
I can sail any ocean
I can climb any mountain
I can hug anyone
If I am not a human
I may have no racism
I may have no religion
I may have no region
I may have no rivalry
But I am a human
I am a muted wind
I am a cloudless rain
I am a wingless bird
I am a hopeless being
poem by Kranthi Pothineni
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The Sour Lemon Tree
A sour lemon tree flower attracts the bee
While its fruit is bitter not so its flower
White is its flower sweet and very pretty
Only the fruit is bitter and that's just a pity
As the beauty of its flower resist not a bee
It's the simple truth
Or see the sour lemon tree
With fruit that is bitter bears a lemon tree
But useful is its fruit good for everyday use
Once said a bee... your flower is very sweet
It carries fragrance scented out in the street
Yet bears you fruit bitter no one wants to eat
It's partly the truth
Or see the sour lemon tree
A citrus tree with fruit no other tree bears
Then out of the tree came a nice neat voice
'Twas like a voice of one who's very wise
This is what it said trees are not so free
One made a decree for every bearing tree
It's partly the truth
Or see the sour lemon tree
The Creator decides the fruit a tree bears
Whether it be bitter or whether it be sweet
The Creator decrees for every bearing tree
To bring forth fruit ordained for it to bear
Then sweet or bitter bears a tree its fruit
It's the simple truth
Or see the sour lemon tree.
poem by Clarence Prince
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First Encounter - Najib Tun Razak
Najib Tun Razak
such big fat
palm
I stayed in Brickfields and never had I thought I would be at the same Indian restaurant with Najib the second day he was sworn in as Prime Minister. He had made it a priority to visit the Chinese and Indian sections of Kuala Lumpur to show his appreciation to the two communities. Everybody stood up when he entered the Kortumalai Indian Restaurant. When he shook hand with me, I suddenly realised that najib has such big fat palm. It is sign of prosperity for Chinese. Let's wish he could bring Malaysia to an era of prosperity.
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Kiwi
Fruit without a stone, its shiny
pulp is clear green. Inside, tiny
black microdot seeds. Skin
the color of khakiImagine
a shaggy brown-green pelt
that feels like felt.
It's oval, full-rounded, kind
of egg-shaped. The rind
comes off in strips
when peeled with the lips.
If ripe, full of juice,
melon-sweet, yet tart as goose-
berry almost. A translucent ring
of seed dots looks something
like a coin-slice of banana. Grown
in the tropics, some stone
fruits, overlarge, are queerly
formed. A slablike pit nearly
fills the mango. I
scrape the fibrous pulp off with my
teeth. That slick round ball
in avocado (fruit without juice) we call
alligator pear:
Plant this seedpit with care
on three toothpicks over a glass
of water. It can come to pass
in time, that you'll see
an entire avocado tree.
Some fruits have stones, some seeds.
Papaya's loaded with slimy black beads.
Some seem seedlesslike quince
(that makes your tastebuds wince.)
Persimmon will
be sour, astringent 'until
dead ripe,' they say. Behind
pomegranate's leathery rind,
is a sackful of moist rubies. Pear,
cantaloupe, grapefruit, guava keep their
seeds hidden, as do raspberry, strawberry,
pineapple. Plum, peach and cherry
we know as fruits with big
seedstones. And fig?
Its graininess is seed. Hard to believe
is prickly durian. It's custard
sweetand smells nasty.
But there's no fruit as tasty,
as odd, or as funny
none
as fresh-off-the-vine New Zea-
land kiwi.
poem by May Swenson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sonnet – Don’t Be
Don't be the fallen leaves, so young and green;
Don't be the buds that never can flower;
Don't be the twigs that always remain lean;
Don't be the flow'rs that dropp with each shower.
Don't be the branches growing very long;
Don't be the tree that never blooms at all;
Don’t be the nests that disallow Bird-song;
Don't be the fruits that hit the Earth by Fall.
Don't be the trunk hollowed by Birds, white-Ants;
Don't be the crown that can't get Sun or Rain;
Don't be the tree that grows not straight but slants;
Don't be the roots that prop the tree in vain.
Don't be the tree that grows on marshy-land;
Just be a tree secure in Maker's Hand.
poem by John Celes
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Pantun - Arus deras sungei Klang setelah hujan lebat (translated to English)
arus deras setelah hujan lebat
cepat ubah wajahnya sungei klang
bagai kuala lumpur di susuli ekonomi pesat
dulu pekerja ladang skrang towkay kilang
the water is treacherous after the rain
the klang river is fast to change her image
like kuala lumpur after the fast economic progress
those farmers some are now factory owners
arus deras sungei klang setelah hujan lebat
bagai kuala lumpur di susuli ekonomi hebat
bangunan tingi lambang pembagunan pesat
ibu kota yang mulai dari lumpur ke suatu pusat
river klang is choppy after a bout of rain
like kuala lumpur after its economic growth
high buildings are signs of development
the city that grows from a mud estuary to an important centre
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Why can't we...?
River flows
Only in one direction
And knows its destination
Yet,
Those by the banks
Thrive and prosper
Why can't we be
Like the river?
Tree bears fruit
And gives shade
For none in particular
Yet
Knows not its fruit
Or its shade
Why can't we be
Like the tree?
Rain rains
For earth to regenerate
The seed to sprout
And plant to bear leaf
Yet
Knows not the life
It recharges
Too many hands
On too many things
Do we have desiring
Name, fame and bounty
And suffer
We end up in
Rain of tears
With no shade to protect
We flow direction-less
Allowing our core
To wash away!
poem by Indira Babbellapati
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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