Brunei Darussalam

This is for the children of the moon, who glisten in the
dark of diamonds,
This is for the putras and putris of night, who became
exiles from the common light became hysterical
became mystical in the crooks of oblivion,
This is for the mad they call misfits, who burn and burn
and burn and burn like holy white flames of hydrogen
heavens

I pray for you…

I pray for you to show blinded fools, who’re sedentary
who’re sick with hate who’re sinful with solemnities,
I pray for you to have the courage to show them…
To show them how your chest burns as gorgeous as
a million stars in nothing!
I pray for you to face fiery liars, who lurk in the day who
with lips of ignorance spit on your faces hot spits of shame!
Shame on them! For they fail to fathom, that you are
God’s visionary avant-garde…
I pray for you to show soul oblivious
singular-minded mechanical-carcasses your potential
infinity…You are infinite and you will prove it
to them!

The fools… The cynics… The condescending cons…

You will not heed them…
     You will not feed them…
          You will show them…

In time, O you will show them your truth!

You will show them that you came from the fine
shining dust of your cosmic mother!

You will show them how you are free…That they are
prisoners of their self-made narrow-minded mental
madness!
You will teach them…For you are the forgotten Oracle!
You were the ones who forgot…

I pray for you…
     I pray for you…
         I pray for you…

I pray for you, to defend your insanity…
     Defend…
          Defend your precious insanity!

And I pray you make them glare!

I pray for you to will and hope, for these are the
elements of maha greatness!

I pray for you, brothers and sisters…
I too pray for the time to come…
     And the fools will agape!
          And the cynics will be stunned!
              And the condescending cons will be confounded!

I pray for you so that you may break the chains of misfit
samsara

I pray for you, within the dim light of now…
I pray for you, to will and hope,
I pray for you, for you are hope…for you are the flames
of future…for you are the fiery lighters of a brighter now

Know that I pray for you…
O great gleaming misfits, forgotten,
hidden and unseen…

O I pray for the night you burst free like
electric flames rising high, twinkling, marveled upon,
in the bright obsidian sky…

Sayang!^[1] Please fetch me my betel nut box,
Made all the way from Pandai Besi^[2],
Come sit and listen as I chew like an ox,
Some advice in verse for you, from me:

A frog under the coconut shell,
Sits in ignorance throughout his life,
So meet more people and travel well,
Understand cultures and avoid strife.

Beware the evil eye of others,
Be calm; my eye is on you, my sayang,
For nothing can beat the love of mothers,
Their parangs^[3]petrify the evil orang.

Clever clever the squirrel jump,
One day, fall to the ground also,
Be humble lest you land on your rump,
Stumble then, get fooled by ego.

Where there is water, there will be fish,
A nation is nothing without its people,
Remember this if you wish to flourish,
Be noble and just – true traits of the regal.

Burong Pingai^[1] to Batu Marang^[2],
The sampans^[3] paddle in search of wealth,
Sayang adui malaiku sayang^[4],
Know that each day I pray for your health.

Start slow but steady, one step at a time,
Little by little, though it feels like forever,
Heed my verses; you will be sublime,
Like lush mountains surrounding our river.

That is all I have of my pantun sayang,
Sayang^[5]if you treat these words like dust,
Though resent I will not, for still you are young,
You will find your way; in that I do trust.

^[1] [Malay] Darling.
^[2] A small area in Brunei’s water village (Kampong Ayer) where blacksmiths traditionally dwell.
^[3] Malay knife.
^[4] An area within the central water village in the heart of Brunei’s capital.
^[5] A small water village in the Brunei Bay.
^[6] Wooden boat.
^[7] A Brunei-Malay term of endearment (Loosely translated to “Oh my dear darling.”)
^[8] [Malay] Pity.

You left for fortune, so you left home,
Our village, too small for you to roam.

One day, I saw you board a ship,
I saw you that day, when you left home.

You did not even look back once,
Eyes on the sea and sun, when you left home.

And in our wooden house I stood alone,
You left me, you know, when you left home.

My heart was stone before yours,
The day you left, you left with my home.

One day, when you decide to skip on
the slippery floors of the waterfront jetties
to take a long hard look at Bandar,
remember
to look
three times.

The first time you look,
the town will look tired
like the mother who’s spent all her life giving
and not enough time living,
like she bears the immense weight
of time and bombs and time bombs;
she’s seen many battles, felt the deadweight bomb
break her back and the shock waves ripple
through her concrete bones, they crack and collapse synapse buildings
like fractures and seizures. She’s tired, does not know
how to keep up with the times. The last time
she knew life was in ‘45, before she’d left
holes on roads between alleyways
unfilled because where do you look for bandages
to nurse years of neglect? Before she’d forgotten
how to repaint the faded rusty signs that tell you
which way to look to find her
beautiful again.

You will want to leave her.

So you look a second time, try to find
something you may have missed,
something that will explain why
she remains limp, unable to move
forward in time, move
on – move or something that tells you, “Yes,
you must leave the ghost of what
she used to be. Her golden days are
over. You’ll never have a life here –“
that’s when you’ll see it,
above you, on the little shophouses with their
peeling roofs, squatting in the shadows,
just a little out of reach; you might’ve missed it
if you didn’t take a second look;
windows; curtains
askew; laundry on
the balcony; faded
satellite dishes; that’s when you’ll realize
people live here. People
and all of their clumsiness and funny habits
and their preference for modernizing.
Understand why on the wrinkles of Bandar’s
townscape, there are
white walls and
clean lines
but she does not know how to live in them.
She’s tired but she’s still breathing and
she’s still trying so hard to make
you stay.

So, the third time you look,
you will finally see the living.
Sit beside the coursing river; the bloodstream
will take you straight to her heart.
See how it drums to the steps of the flurry of people
rushing by after work hours.
Spot the man beside his old white kijang puffing on a
cigarette,
exhaling with the fumes of the passing cars.
Listen for the Chinese aunties sitting cross-legged on a
bench,
chattering away, the river taking all of their secrets with
its current.

Wave to the old lady with a limp on her right leg,
pushing a trolley of groceries towards Kampung Ayer’s
jetty to
go home. This is what you don’t see if you don’t look
close
enough.

She lives.

So the next time you decide to skip on
the slippery floors of the waterfront jetties
to take a long hard look at Bandar,
remember
to look
three times.