An Unfortunate Singh

 This is about a Singh you and I both know

the one who resides in between towers and shoplots

grey in essence

and wears an invisible torn cape

This Singh wears many faces; none of them false

one shines brightest,  and worn most often; the sewadar

a man so steeped in Sikh and Punjabi

a putte, he was once called

Another is the filial son

self-scarifying

the care-taker

the youngest who worries from night to dawn

the shoulder his whole family sits on

And oh, I should mention the face he wears for his brotherhood

assigned to run here and there for he never runs out of breath

turning mountains into personal collections

an explorer, never needing permission

quite the macho man

And then, there is the face he wears with her

a charmer who could make  conversation lingers

generous with praise, humour and restricted intimacy

a flirt when it gives him joy

high on the sweetness of being wanted

This face is wrinkled

of worries, anger, frustrations and longing

she soothes them all tenderly

careful to not bruise him further

Yet,

 for all the faces this Singh has mastered

the one that mattered most seemed to escape him

for there stood a woman worth every version of him

and he, somehow fumbled her

quite spectacularly.

Oh poor unfortunate Singh!

no empty pockets

no shortage of admirers

but riddled with a simple misfortune

a remarkable woman loved him

and the fool let vines of comfort creep around his feet

until standing still felt easier than choosing her

Rahim Yang Meratah

 Aku tidak pasti siapa yang berjisim dahulu, 

Aku atau engkau

Yang pasti, 

Kau sejasad denganku saat dunia mula mengenal kita

Aku juga tidak pasti siapa yang membentuk siapa

Adakah sifat-sifatku lahir daripadamu

Atau tahun-tahun yang aku jalani membentukmu

Atau kita ini sekadar makhluk simbiosis

Aku tahu aku ada kamu

Sebaik kau isytihar kuasamu saat aku masih pingitan

Kuasa yang makin lama makin bersifat penjajah

Perlahan-lahan kau bina penjara kaca yang orang lain tidak percaya wujudnya

Aku sering kau serang di setiap kitaranmu

Hingga aku telan apa saja hanya untuk berdiri

Kau rodok ketenangan dan kewarasanku

Hingga di ranjang aku bersemayam

Lelehan merah, jenuh ku tadah

Makin lama semakin banyak

Entah apa kau tangiskan

Hingga aku terjelepuk,  tidak lagi berdaya

Tiap kali aku sedikit gagah, kau mulakan semula sengsara

Saat kau terkesan dek letupan ovari

Lalu aku yang menanggung hukum

Atas apa yang tidak pernah aku minta

Kau mengajar aku mengira kemampuan

Adakah cukup kudrat untuk sehari di luar penjara

Atau sekadar

Memandang gembira 

Mendengar ketawa

Tanpa boleh turut serta

Jalaran gentar makin subur

Setiap langkah ku ukur menurut amukmu

Setiap hari aku meneka tingkahmu

Supaya aku berdamai dengan buih mimpi yang pecah

Tangisan senyapku tiada siapa tahu

Luka apa yang ku toreh padamu hingga kita sakit begini

Apa marahmu, hingga kau yang sepatutnya sakti, meratahku

Bukankah kita rumah yang sama

Kau rongga penyemai kasih sayang

Kau ruang suburnya cinta

Kau taman tumbuhnya benih

Tapi bukan untuk aku

Kau rahim yang meratah jiwaku 

Hingga aku menguburkan mu

Antara Azan dan Simran I

 Pernah ada ketika

aku dan seluruh dunia terpenjara di ranjang

pengasingan itu menyuburkan sunyi hingga warasku bercalar

aku yang sedia gersang dek kemarau dua dekad menjadi kemaruk

madu setitis aku jilat rakus, meski sudah tercemar

Dalam rintihan dan perangku sendiri

aku mencari kesudian insan menghulurkan madu barang setitis

lalu terpandang wajah kamu yang sejuk

senyumanmu membaja lagi kepinginku pada madu

Buih kata kita terapung lama

menari-nari dek gurau yang menggoda

hingga ia berona pelangi

lalu pecah menjadi ketawa yang tidak sempat disembunyikan

Bibir kita sama, bersalut madu

bicara kau dan aku manisnya ketara

terbaja hati yang sebelumnya lara

entah bila terbinanya rasa

Dalam hiruk pikuk alam maya

antara sunyi dunia realiti

kehausan dua hati mula terubat

tanpa pernah disebut, azan atau simran

A Grey Singh

That Singh,

with a grey beard and moustache

carries a grey that follows him

like a quiet mist

Not the grey of sorrow

but of ash that never cooled

from fires no one saw

and of silent storms he endured

He gives himself away

whilst tiptoeing on already worn-out feet

as grey settles on him

he folds into molds never his own

His eyes reveal what his shoulders conceal

a tired child who's adamant about being strong

a boy still wearing a torn cape

a man isolated by his choice

His arms are strong

veiny and hard

arms that carry many lives

except his lover

How quietly the grey Singh breaks my heart

he fears the hands that gently reach for him

he moves awkwardly, shoulders drawing in

every embrace finds him stepping back

as though love requires blood

That Singh

that grey Singh

tugs my soul

grey seems to love him so

The Seat Beside Mine

 

The chair beside mine scraped softly one Monday,

Just after morning assembly ended that day.

A boy walked in with rain still on his shirt,

And placed his bag down gently on the desk’s soft skirt.

The fan above us turned - in a slow steady sound,

While sunlight spread quietly across the classroom ground.

I stayed silent as he found his place,

And the room slowly learned his unfamiliar face.

 

By midweek we shared rulers during Maths class,

And laughed at mistakes that happened too fast.

He sketched small rockets at the edge of his page,

While I folded paper planes in a quiet lesson stage.

At recess we moved through the crowded canteen line,

Carrying drinks while waiting patiently in time.

The seat beside mine no longer felt so new,

Just a quiet space where small moments grew.

 

During group work I lost the thread of the task,

While others finished faster than I could ask.

He pointed softly to where I should begin,

And stayed beside me without making it a win.

The teacher called for answers from our row,

My hands grew still; I did not want to go.

He slid his book a little closer to me,

And suddenly the work became easier to see.

Now the seat beside mine is never just a place,

It carries small moments we shared in this space.

Some days are noisy, some days feel slow,

But sitting beside him feels like I already know.

We do not say much when the lessons begin,

Yet somehow the day feels lighter within.

And when I look at that seat by my side,

I know good company is quietly there to guide

Awan Kata-Kata

Semalam kau marah sekali

Seperti biasa, setiap kali darah mu naik ke kepala maka kata-kata mu menebal seperti awan saat hari mahu hujan

Berat, gelap, penuh halilintar

Aku biasa dengan awan kata-kata sebegitu

Ayah ku juga begitu

Setiap marahnya membawa ribut ke seisi rumah

Tapi meski biasa, hatiku masih menangis

Meski biasa

Kebal yang aku sangka,  hanya tingkah, bukan rasa

Tubuh aku mula sejuk, mata mula menangis

Awan katamu menjerut hatiku

Kau sebut benci dan jengkel 

Kau kata aku punahkan percaya, aku seperti maling

Aduh! Sampai hati!

Makin aku ingat, makin lebat hujan ini

Mengapa tidak mampu kau lembutkan katamu?

Bukankah sayang itu hadir bersamanya kelembutan?

Atau sayangmu jua seperti hujan tidak jadi?

Atau aku memang selayaknya dimarahi begitu?

Awan kata-kata mu penuh halilintar

dan aku sudah terbakar

Nama Yang Ku Kirim Ke Mekah

Jika ada yang bertanya kepada mu

Apa benar aku mencintai kamu

Maka sewajibnya kamu jawab 

Iya! Benar sekali!

Jika ada yang menjuihkan bibirnya sambil berkata

Apa buktinya?

Maka harus kau pekik kepada mereka

Dia menghantar namaku ke Mekah

Ya!

Aku telah menghantar namamu ke Mekah

Aku kirimkan dalam lipatan doa 

Yang dilafazkan sahabat-sahabatku di Jabal Rahmah

Sebegitu aku mencintai kamu

Meski aku tahu bahawa kamu sendiri ragu akan cintamu pada aku

Hiba sekali hati ini

Bila makbulnya doa itu bukan seperti yang aku tuliskan 

Tuhan memberitahu alam agar mencurahkan banjir di hati kita

Supaya cair pekat nafsu asmara

Jika sesekali kamu tertanya adakah benar aku mencintai kamu

Maka aku ingin sekali menyatakan sambil ku usap pipi mu

Ya! Aku benar mencintai kamu

Hingga ku bawa namamu dalam doa ku.