...and DO NOT be surprised...

Assalamualaikum and peace be upon you ...

THE DAY THAT I LOST COUNT OF THE DAYS...

5th month of the second year of being a slave to a slave ...

___________ooOoo___________

oo(O)oo

NAUGHTY .... NAUGHTY

___________ooOoo___________

oo(O)oo

What would happen if I put my rooster's two feet into your donkey's mouth?

___________ooOoo___________
oo(O)oo

The Signs We Make

Stick up and split your index and middle finger,

and put them straight on their face,

don't you be amuse or wonder,

how it'll trigger a smile and even win you a pink lace,

now,

put down either one of those finger,

and point it straight at their face,

and prepare to run faster than a swelled river,

to save your self from what would come after.

Then,

Stop running and try opening up your arms,

add a little bit smile as a charm,

you'll see that they'd become calm,

and even offer you some ale as alms,

or,

Stop running and put up your fists,

add a little bit of hiss as a twist,

stand your ground like a dying priest,

and don't forget to be gratefull for all God's bliss.

Then after,

Remind me back which one you are,

the chaser or the one being chased so far,

for both makes no different seen from a moving car,

all the same in man's mad war.

___________ooOoo___________

oo(O)oo

Pantun Pasak

Pasang pasak berapit-rapit,

Boleh bergasak bila di dapur,

Amat rugi berpesak sempit,

Seluar kan rabak bila di bukit.

Resam kaki mendaki bukit,

Betis letih perut pun pedih,

Rugi aki mengurut si sakit,

Yang menahan angin di perut buncit.

Menahan angin di perut buncit,

Melawan pedih berlagak sombong,

Meminta pimpin pada selampit,

Membawa rintih bila di kolong.

___________ooOoo___________
oo(O)oo

_______OPPPSSSS_______

_______O_______

...and this is for you...

Assalamualaikum and peace be upon you ...

Twilight between Day of the Terribles and the Blithe,

21st dawn of the Time of Healing,

Year of the Ignis Mialis.

5th month of the second year of being a slave to a slave ...

___________ooOoo___________

oo(O)oo

The Poet who sat at the Gates of Hell

(a dedication for MA and her broods whose two last posts has greatly touched me and Melord Abah de la Count who is in a veruy long silenceand My Akh Master Wailer whom I hope to be smiling againand also to all the parents and children)

___________ooOoo___________

oo(O)oo

"What a piece of work is a man! How noble in reason! how infinite in faculties! in form and moving, how express and admirable! in action how like an angel! in apprehension, how like a god! the beauty of the world! the paragon of animals! And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust?"

Shakespere’s Hamlet.

___________ooOoo___________
oo(O)oo

"Ha ha ha," laugh the little boy at the statue of a naked man sitting in a thinking pose.

"Ha ha ha ... the model for this oxidized sculpture must be one shameless dude! Ha ha ha ..." said the boy laughing cheerfully to his father.

The man, late in to his thirties, smiled lovingly at his sweet sweet son.

"There's a tale made of tales behind this eternal body, but I don't think you'd wanna hear it kiddo, big kids like you would never want to hear such boring tales" the man teases his boy with a smile.

Raising an eye brow, sporting a spout that marks a child with a scorned ego, "Sez who?!" retorts the red cheeked boy, a bit annoyed, to his father,"Tales are fun, it'll fills up time since there's nothing else to do in our long trip. You sholudn't have said that I don't like tales, that's sooooo very stone aged of you Papa!"

"Ha ha ha ..." laughed the man at the remarks by the light of his heart,"okay, okay lil' dude, I will tell you the tales of The Poet who sat at the Gates of Hell, not in the ways that it is written, but in the manner it is forgotten."

Both father and child walk to a nearby sidewalk cafe. They sat and ordered their drinks and a hefty set of munchies, "well theres something that would occupy my mind while hearing papa's boring tales. Hope there'd be a chicka or two passing down this way too...heheheh," slyly silently and with a sinister smile the child thougt.

And slyly, silently with saintly smile prayed the father's heart,"one day this dear child of mind will grow up with a filled tummy and a full mind."

Drank and ate they do, and went to the loo too before the stroy to be told is told with no blue.

There tale begun with a note of question.

Why must a man sat in such a position, with an exposed loin as if he is a pauper with a songle coin.

He is a poet, of which a tell tale sign of a man with great wisdom. Muscular and well sculptured marking great health and of great wealth.

So why must he sat in such a position?

None could answer this 'cept for the man who made The Poet who sat at the Gates of Hell his son.

And none could answer this 'cept for the the statue who is the son.

"Or so we thought for the countless ages that have run," the father said to his young son.

"The statue," he continued his tale, "is the work of a meastro who wish that he could live for eternity".

But, as he is human, he realised that it is not a possibility for anyone to live life that long.

"And son, eternity is a very long period," epxlained the father.

To live life that long, one should have a great amount of patience, a good taste of happiness, a huge portion of love and, a citadel of dexterity to maneuver between the winding roots of despair and sadness.

For quite a long while the maestro ponder and wonder and tought of this.

Until who day, a strock of enlightenment struck him.

"He knew, to live for eternity, he could never be in this mortal body that he is in now," explained the thirty something dashind dad to his cute cuddly kid.

"But this enlightment is by no means straight forword," he continued making that cute cuddly kid of his lean forward in much interest and ask:"how so?"

"No one could tranfers thenself from one body to another, silly boy, that only happen in horror thrillers - and that reminds me to put cut you back on those long hours of tv," answered the adult to the adolescent.

"Oooo no no no ... there's no way that would happen ... I'm telling mom about this," the son tries to bargain.

"Hmmm... do that and the story ends here," counter bargained the father knowingly that his son interest in it would make him willing to loose anything sacrifiable privilages that he has.

"Grrrrrr... you are mean papa... okay you win. But don't think for a second that this would go unforgetten," replied the son with a sweet smile.

"No matter, a win is still a win no matter how small," says the father with an equally sweet smile.

"Now, lets get back to the tale shall we?" asked the father,"Yay!" respond the son.

A man is no maestro if he lack the ability to seek, sieve and synthesize the knowledge that he has gain.

Using that qualities of a meastro, he managed to find a way to live eternally.

"All I need is a replica of myself, not of my shape, but of the experience, thoughts, knowledge, believes and the spirit that I have.

"A replica that also has the ability and qualities of a thinking person so that he would grow inner and outer bodily, and in time, past it trough to another replica," the maestro concluded his search.

The father,paused for a moment and look at the widening eye of his son, seeing a growing interest in the story that he is telling.

"Want another scoop of ice cream kiddo," asked the before continuing telling the tale.

"Yup," answered the son short.

"With that understanding of what he should do, the maestro began to work on his replica," continue the father after the scoop of ice cream is served.

For two straight day and two straight night, the maestro work on the design and the layout and testing the best material for making his dream of immortality to materialized.

And in last nine hours of those two long night, a shape of a dashingly handsome, muscular and very smart looking man - sitting with and arm supporting his head as if he is deep in thoughts thinking about thoughts.

And for two months straight the maestro melt, mold, braze, polishing, refining and carve the statue using the finest of the finest bronze ore.

"And finally, there it stood, magnificently and shining gloriuosly under the midday sun," said the father to his son.

Now what is left for the meastro is to find a location as grand as his creation for it to reign and rule the awe of the people who saw it.

After a very long pondering moment, he decided that this creation of his will be placed at the gates of a wizards' throve.

The reasoning for this is, it is a mecca for the lords and ladies of the town. A haven for those who have only a gown. A paradise for those who do not want to be a clown.

So, with great trouble and even greater difficulty, he hoist with great heaves the poet,"and of course he had some help there," explained the father to his son,"and carriage it to the wizard's castle right in the middle of the capital of the country we he lived."

With great care, and even greater love, he place it midway trough the pavement that leads from the golden gates to the great doors of the wizard's castle.

"All is done in one long cold night," said the father.

When the morning sun of the next day rose to take the place of the night moon, and when the sun's first ray of light hits The Poet, the whole of the country was graced with a wonderful awe.

The reflected ray showered them with golden light making them deliciuosly blinded.

And when delicious blindness seeps from their eyes, the town folks - from the lords to the ladies to the paupers and the preachers to the behave and the delinquents to the saint and the sinners to the dumb and the learned, found themself standing motionlessly in looking in awe at an awesome sight.

As if a golden god has descended from the sky, The Poet become the only sight of their eyes.

All felt as if they were in the presence of a diety king.

Not realising that at the foot of The Poet lay almost lifeless the maestro.

If only The Poet can shed tears, only then, all of them would realise the sadness that harbour in his bronze chest.

And there sat The Poet in front of what have become the gates of hell for him since that day where his creator has fallen.

And there he sat reminiscing with great sorrow that he would be there and not with the hands that created him with great love and care.

And there he sat from that moment to this day when a father, who, in a time not so long is a sweet little son who at the same spot first learned of the tales of The Poet who sat at the Gates of Hell told by his father, stood looking lovingly at the son that resembles the likeness in his looks and behaviour when he is of his age.

"And amidst the silence of the town folks who stood in awe, told my father to me," said the father to the grandson of his father,"the maestro whispered to The Poet..." he continued while lifting his son and bringing his face closer to him.

Be sad you not, my son,

even as I go as silent and forgetfull as the rays of the sun,

in you I live and forever I will run,

or even when my corpse will fed the worms of a nun,

trough your eyes I will make a filling bun,

and even if my name fade from the tombstone it is carved,

it will be remembered in the names that you will love,

and even when my wooden crescent cross is lost,

in your palms hells' fury will frost,

and even if my grave is step by those who walked above,

in you chest I stand proud and filled with love,

and when the shrubs shies me from the sun,

I am always proud of you my son.

And the father like his father before him concluded the tale with a kiss on the forehead of his son.

- FYI -
The Poet who sat at the Gates of Hell - The Thinker statue at Musée Rodin, Paris; a shallow intrepertation of mine.

- ended till another end -

___________ooOoo___________

oo(O)oo

In another time,

another tale will come.

maybe,

of the things the Demon saw as a Slave to a Slave.

But for now,

the Demon would only want to rest.

___________ooOoo___________

oo(O)oo

_______THANK YOU_______

_______O_______

...and this is who I am...

Assalamualaikum dan sejahteralha ke atas kamu...

Selisih antara Anggara Kliwon Julungwagi dan Kliwon Sungsang,

Hari ke 12 dan 18 waktu bermulanya Kedinginan,

1428 tahun selesainya perpindahan agung.

4 hari 5 bulan menjadi hamba kepada hamba...

___________ooOoo___________

oo(O)oo

Putri Pitulungan

___________ooOoo___________

oo(O)oo

Tatkala terselaknya selimut bulan yang disulami kerdipan intan yang tidak tercapai yang disusuli nyanyian syukur sang tembolok kosong, duduk bersilang kaki Sang Siluman Raja.

Dengan singgahsana tahktanya tersengguk-sengguk melayan nyanyian cengkerik yang masih terngiang-ngiang di pintu Cemuhan Suci, kembara kembali tuah walang ini di titis lalu yanng kini kering tinggal kesan.

Di kala yang diingati dalam kelupaan itu, terhidu mindanya akan haruman tujuh bunga adunan nira cinta yang pernah dihirupnya.

Setiap kuntum punya kemanisan serta kepahitannya yang memarut di buku darah beku, pewaris Sang pandai Akal Yang Bodoh ini.

Setiap kuntum menyegarkan juga memabukkan.

Setiap kuntum memanaskan belulang dingin juga melapah daging dedarnya.

Setiap satu penawar keruh juga pembawa geruh.

Puteri Pitulungan, keindahan tujuh sekawan yang datang dengan ketentuan tuhan pada detik-detik yang telah ditetapkan bersama pengajaran serta sumpahan.

Puteri Setunggal...

Sang Setunggal, cicit Hawa yang pertama yang menjinakkan hati liar cicit Adam berbintang pawaka ini.

Bagai adat berteluk timbunan kapal, lemah kaki yang menongkat diri Sang Siluman Raja bertemu Setunggal yang bermata sepet berkulit Jawa berpinggang ramping bagai ketiding itu.

Cicit Adam dan turunan Hawa itu pucuk-pucuk muda semuda pitulas musim, yang berhalkum dua Ramadhan lewat dari yang berusuk genap.

Saling melilit ranting-ranting dua pucuk muda ini lamanya nem purnama. Saat yang seketika itu kesannya amat membara.

Awalan peninggalan, Sang Siluman Raja bagai kesialan keracunan. Akhiran peninggalan, Sang Siluman Raja diselimuti ilmu pengetahuan.

Sang Puteri Setunggal mengajarnya erti induk kepada pucuk. Si Cilik bermata sepet berkulit Jawa berpinggang ramping bagai ketiding itu mengajarnya keperitan pucuk yang menanggung induk reput.

Di balik kejelitaan, Sang Setunggal banyak menelan kepahitan.

Induknya punya sekawan banir yang dihalalkan.

Induknya punya sekawan kewajipan.

Induknya punya sekawan kealpaan.

Kealpaan yang menjadikan Sang Setunggal jantan.

Menanggung beban yang induknya tinggalkan.

Langsung mengajar Sang Siluman Raja enggan bergelar jantan.

Tetapi pria yang akan lurus pada apa yang lawan duniawi sarankan.

Puteri Kalih....

Kulitnya tidak putih manakala mindanya pula saling bersilih.

Matanya memandang penuh kasih, hatinya menyayang penuh pedih.

Tak punya sayap tapi bebas terbang.

Cilik tubuhnya tapi jiwa sukar dikekang.

Namun, kalih yang paling Sang Siluman Raja sayang.

Satu kitab satu zaman.

Sayang yang membuat jati melayang.

Melayang hinggakan hati terbakar terang.

Bertemu di kala remaja kan di panggil untuk memlaksanakan tanggungjawab dengan warkah yang dibuang.

Berpisah di kala pilihan hidup mula bersilang-silang.

Pedihnya bagi luka disurah cuka semarang.

Namun ilmunya membawakan nilai dan erti kasih sayang.

Sehingga kini membawa mati kan Sang Siluman pegang.

Puteri Tri...

Putih kulit berseri-seri, selayak Sang Tri anak pada warisnya Menteri. Hadir di hati wajah yang ngeri ketika Sang Siluman masih rindukan haruman baiduri. Asal teman di ajak bersilat, namun penyebab hati terikat.

Namun indah bukan harumnya kasih setaman, membuat yang terikat berubah haluan. Kembali menari di pencak persilatan.

Sehingga kini keakhir zaman, jalan indah yang keduanya pilihkan.

Puteri Sekawan...

Anak jati tanah pahlawan, mata berseri indah menawan, jasad berdiri amat menyelerakan. Berdiri Sekawan dan Sang Siluman, berbeza lima kali bertukar Syaaban. Sang Siluman pria beruban, Sang Sekawan mentari pagi di balik awan.

Pertemuan yang hanya manis pada rawan, menukarkan sang wali kepada syaitan. Bersama Sekawan, Sang Siluman merasai manisnya bisa di kelopak bunga merah menawan. Bersama Sekawan, Sang Siluman merasai bagaimana mabuk embun di celah busut di hutan.

Bersama Sekawan, Sang Siluman mempelajari indahnya rupa istana bunian.

Sehingga kini sakitnya pada kembar yang tersembunyi dikekalkan tuhan.

Puteri Gangsal...

Tatkala menari bersama Sekawan, meronggeng Sang Siluman bersama Puteri Gangsal. Di tanah kembarnya kelawar sang puteri berasal, disilang simpang oleh hamba tak berakal.

Berdiri Gangsal dan Sang Siluman, berbeza lima kali bertukar Syawal. Namun, di wayang ini, Sang Gangsal beruban ikal, Sang Siluman pula cahaya siddiq di balik awan.

Puteri Gangsal pernah di tawan, namun ketika itu enam muharram dia dilepaskan ikatan. Tekad di hati Sang Siluman, yang ini bakal dijadikan cawan yang diriba piringan.

Pada induknya yang tidak suka minuman hidangan Sang Siluman, dia tegas menanak air di pembakaran.

Akibat dari kedegilan, dadanya dirobek air yang panas sakan.

Parutnya masih belum kekeringan, tinggal kekal menjadi ingatan kepada satu pengajaran.

Puteri Sad...

Bertemu ketika dua korban bersilih meninggalkan kisah Puteri Gangsal dan Sang Siluman. Sehingga kini masih saling betikaman walaupun yang setiap satu masih menjadi kesayangan satu yang lainnya.

Dalam tubuhnya mengalir pati sang sepet dan majapahit. Ditatih oleh bendahara permaisuri penawan tanah melayu. Sehingga bersilih antara yang sawo dan yang putih.

Namun hatinya penuh kasih.

Walau bersilih sawo dan putih, dalam darah yang hitam Sang Sad tahu mana yang wajar di pilih. Namun, setiap kali cuba beralih, teringat kembali pada yang ditatih.

Walang Sang Sad, Sang Siluman tidak pandai menabur baja.

Supaya yang nyata bertambah nyata.

Puteri Pitulungan...

Tak kira melawan mahu mengadap depan. Dari Setunggal membawa ke Sad. Tak pernah tahu apa yang dicita oleh ain.

Silapnya bukan salah mereka.

Benarnya silap Sang Siluman yang lara.

Cita dan cinta pada sang Pitulungan.

Yang wujud hanya dalam bayangan.

Sang Pitulungan, Sang Pitulungan, zikir cita dan cinta Sang Siluman.

Cantik bukan pada sang badan mahupun rupa yang menawan. Cantik pada satu pemahaman kepada yang satu.

Indah bukan pada kulit bak telur yang diangkat dari rebusan. Tapi pusat yang menyurih kisah dari pandangan dan pendengaran.

Merdu bukan pada sebarang nyanyian. Merdu dari ucapan kasih kepada kanda yang keletihan.

Cakep bukan pada cakak. Cakep pada induk dan anak.

Itulah Puteri Pitulungan yang bertakhta di benak.

- TAMAT sehingga penamat yang lain menyusul -

___________ooOoo___________

oo(O)oo

Ceritera Lebah

Menonong terbang sang lebah sedih,

mencari setitik madu yang putih,

buat penghilang dahaga yang pedih,

biar tenaga yang hilang pulih,

namun mengapa sesudah musim jauh bersilih,

yang di pilih menawar pilih,

membuat dahaga semakin pedih,

membuat jiwa makin meratih.

Menonong terbang sang lebah bingung,

mata merah telinga berdegung,

sundutnya makin memanggil di balik lembayung,

panglimanya makin kuat berdegung,

letihnya makin menganggung,

menambah-manambah kepada dirinya bingung.

Di tengah hari berehat sang lebah di atas batu,

menahan letih dengan hati yang sayu,

menahan getar takut dan pilu,

menjadi tunggal di balik seribu.

Di balik sejuk tatkala singgah di atas batu,

menjelma di mata bayangan Ratu,

menyanyikan syair penuh mendayu,

menyuluh benak yang kurangnya ilmu,

agar tegar di balik sayu.

Syurga sang lebah,

bukan pada mawar yang merah,

bukan pada madu yang mencurah-curah,

tapi pada hapaknya basahan kaabah,

yang dibeli dengan jiwa yang tabah,

dan dibalut dengan dedaun usrah.

___________ooOoo___________

oo(O)oo

Di kala lain, jemari lacur ini akan menari lagi,di kala ini,jemari lacur ini ingin labuh di jeti mentari.

___________ooOoo___________

oo(O)oo

_______THANK YOU_______

_______O_______

...and I hope you will see...

Assaamualaikum and peace be upon you...

Day of The Pious,

9th dawn of the Time of Healing,

Year of the Ignis Mialis.

23rd dayo of the 4th month of the 2nd year of being a slave to a slaves of Lucre ...

___________ooOoo___________

oo(O)oo

paradox of light and darkness

___________ooOoo___________

oo(O)oo

Light and darkness...

Piouty and blasphemy...

Saint and sinner...

Kind and cruel...

Candour and sly...

Right and wrong...

Gentlemen and babarians...

Ladies and bitches...

Which of those listed are you, walkers of the mortal plane? Which one are you? the former or the later.

Either one or neither none?

But then, are these the right questions to be ask? Are you the appropriate person to answer?

To be or not to be, often one ask one self only to have the answer coming form the mouth of another.

Do one have the divine right to define one self?

Or it is the the right of the others?

Lavishly, each and every one of us preached that we are what we made ourselves. But religously we practice that a person is what we want them to be.

"I am," once proclaimed the Demon Prince, "a scuplture of a gentleman to a lady, holding the light of rightousness so that the route to piety wold be paved by kindness and ends in sainthood."

"You are," in that same instance retort the ones other than the child of agnus, "a wreckage of a wretched bastard of a bicth that dwelve in the darkness of wrongs that became the ornaments on the winding maze of blasphemy drew by sins."

"I am," herald the half-dead love only by the truly dead. in the time between what will be and has be, "a a creature that thrive illuminating darkeness, chasing and ing chased by sinning saints of wretched gentlemens who slept and swore lady whores that preaches blasphemous piousness onto a world hideously beautiful."

"You are," the hatefull lovers vainly try to dispute him, "you are... not of our kin."

Not of our kin - were the only words able to be uttered by the tounges that claimed they come from flesh of canodur.

Not of our kin - words that slyly turn to magical mantras abonishing being such as the Demon prnce.

And thus he becomes an exile from the land of exalted saint.

For a moment, the child of Agnus could only stand motionless, paralized by the darkness that surrounds him.

He could see neither to nor fro. Neither clouds nor stars. Neither sun nor moon.

Only darkness.

Silent is the only sound he could hear.

As the grains of the sand of time slowly pass, the hollowed eyes of the half dead began to see shape taking form around him.

No clear curves could be seen, only camouflaged figure of all shape and sizes.

Fear and lonelines crept painfully into his hollowed heart.

So painstaking painfull that the living part of him cringe in cry hoping that the hooded creature who yield the dreaded scythe of souls would invite him to the neitherland.

As the tears gushed from his hollowed eyes like blood from a severed artery flow began to subside, calmness embrace the once fearfull heart of the Demon Prince.

His rotting eyes began to see clearly.

His numb mind slowly recognizing each and every shape that form in the dark.

He began to understand this taunting lesson The Dealers deck is offering.

When one is blinded by the light that is intended to illuminate one's journey, one tend to see things as the things that they are not.

When one is detoxified by the sweet savory droplets of grape one would be intoxeicated by the clear water than calms and cleans the mud in a river bed.

Thus one would be obliviuos to the obviuos.

And one would see only what one wanted to see.

Making one -

be in darkness in the presence of Light... preaching blasphemous piouness...

turn into a sinning saint...

disseminating kind cruelty...

trough sly candour...

wronging the right...

a marks the birth of barbaric gentlemen...

who would later partner with bitching ladies...

- ENDED till another end -

___________ooOoo___________

oo(O)oo

Seeing Blind

Hello,

I am new here,

I came from a land of the bewildered,

I have no friends nor lover.

Would you come closer to this tired traveler,

so that I can see you a little bit clearer,

please do not have no fear,

as I am a paralized blind from ear to ear,

a gift i got from me deeds in the coming years,

as a sentinel for devilish deers.

Now, now, do not be wary,

as a blind could never see,

there fore I could never pinch your little tootsy,

like what the demonic diety did to me,

so there is nothing for you to worry.

What is that you said in me hands you see?

that makes you head go weepity wee,

ahh, no, no, don't you go awry,

I'll tell you of the things I brought with me,

so you'll see a what a blind man sees.

A wand in my left and and a torch in me right hand,

is much appropriate for a blinded man,

one for shining the routes to thid land,

the other for telling an enemu from a friend.

A straight line crossed with a cresent on my neck,

a sign of me religous pack,

an order of sinning saints,

who seeks the pleasures of pain,

in hope one day I will again,

be a saintly sinner who preaches out pious blasmephemies,

making me an enemy pf the blasphemous piety.

As for this coarse velvet that I wore,

I know it is an eye spre,

but it is a precious gift from me lady whore,

who reminds me we are whoring ladies,

who love to be barbaric gentlemen,

and kill gentlemen barbaricly.

Worry not child,

as i am blind as a blind could be,

and all I know is the darkness that in it you be,

it is the light that helps me see.

___________ooOoo___________

oo(O)oo

In another time,

another tale will come.

maybe,

of the things the Demon saw as a Slave to a Slave.

But for now,

the Demon would only want to rest.

___________ooOoo___________

oo(O)oo

_______THANK YOU_______

_______O_______