Stuck in a rut,
Didn't know what to do,
Looking at sunbeams,
Making fun of me too.
Oh my god,
They've seen it all,
Scratching the walls,
And almost I forgot.
I was there to,
When will you do what you do,
And let me out this here place,
And renew my face.
A bloodsucking monster in disguise of a nice guy,
Trying to find more of this life.
Then you wanted to be sure,
You got close and got hurt.
Where were you when the world ends,
When the sickly romance through,
I will get to you.
They say there's a motel of sin,
But I wouldn't trade my life for the one that you're living,
Because I was always this way,
For as long as I can hardly remember.
When you caught me by surprise,
I had to look into your heartless eyes,
Like the moon they never show,
How it is they'll ever glow,
Without the sun behind them.
Because here's the reason,
For all of my treason,
My awkward sense of freedom.
Because here's the highlight,
Of the deepest darkest lonely night,
I put my five fingers,
On yours,
And tell the whore inside,
That the angel wants to ride a plane.
Cause I wouldn't trade my life for the one that you're living,
I wasn't born in prison.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Friday, October 1, 2010
To: M.A.R. :)
It’s not often for one to see a tanned, dark-haired Malay speaking in an Australian parlor, intermittently interspersed with an American accent, whilst wearing a baju kurung,and managing to look comfortable in it. That was the scenario once upon a Raya. One might presume her as a baffled product of globalization, but she would tell you otherwise. She’s Maryam, best living individual in the world.
For a person who would pass off as a Caucasian – on the phone at least – Maryam’s height is a great example of sexual dimorphism in nature. In other words, she is short. Her beady eyes has become a distinctive feature, for the fact that all of her sisters share the same trait. Adorable as that might sound; she is not in any way ‘vulnerable’. Despite the petite impression she gives, Maryam’s confidence can scare the heavens out of you. With all of that in the picture, Maryam has still managed to keep her poise and charm decent enough in any given situation.
To describe her as boyish would be lazy journalism. In fact, Maryam’s sense of style surpasses most seventeen-year-old girls. A self-proclaimed connoisseur of the arts, the range of Converse and Gucci she has on the list, has become to the object of envy and admiration amongst both genders. She is a girl of principles. In this case, its feminism. Trivial matters like playing hockey with her male peers, turns into a global debate of discrimination. But at the end of the day, her distaste for disputes and her awkwardly alluring sense of humor overwhelms the gravity of it all. “How many feminists does it take to change a lightbulb? None, because they can’t change anything!,” she jokes with the world.
It’s the myriad of characteristics in her personality that has driven me to write this essay. The reality of her being female has often made people mistake it for post-menstrual syndrome. But her ire and assertion is not without substance. A tornado on the run; as when it all recedes, the sun would shine like it has never shined before.
The truth of the matter is that Maryam, since she moved Down Under two years ago, I haven’t even seen the outline of her countenance. I was disappointed to discover that the Razak family came to my house when I was too busy socializing in the outside world. Disbelieving the notion that I had a childhood friend (because I remembered being antisocial as a child), I sent her a letter. It was a torturous attempt to avoid awkward statements, like implying that I’ve known her before, would make me sound like a desperate stalker.
But Maryam’s unorthodox way of behavior has proven me wrong once again. She answered it, remembering the address and the name given to me, so nonchalantly. She was the same old Maryam, surprisingly so, despite the maturity. I laughed my head off when she arrived at the airport not too long ago. “Hello, 6-year-old soul mate!,” she cried. Memories of how she spoke Australian attempting to imitate Harry Potter came rushing back.
She was a parable to conclude. Teaching how friendship is not a matter of material expressions, but the warmth when two friends would fall silent in the middle of a conversation, as though communicating through telepathic means. Maryam Abdul Razak, if you’re not nominated on the list of Person of the Year, then there’s always a reason for that. But seriously, you would always be the ‘Person of My 17 Years of Living’. Salutations, Maryam!
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Exciting Lighting
I was looking through my playlist,
And noticed that the last time I listened to The Strokes,
Which is supposedly the nominal favourite band of all time in my opined gesture of a post.
Was 2 months ago.
It was less of a sad revelation, then it was a disappointing one.
It is all winning glory when my career of structuralised arguments put into moot ends with a happy episode of pride and relief.
Relief....hmm.
That was it then. I did not want to let it go.
Because isn't that what relief is about? Releasing. Sure, struggles were meant to be part of the dogmatic package of hope. But the thing is without the toil there wouldn't be the oil that became the source of light...the source..
Of endlessly incoherent poetry.
You see, as an individual, I was never much up for planning..anything.
All of my poems are drafts, my thoughts subconsciously thrown into forms of words.
Until debate came and ruined that sense of randomness.
And now, when I try to revert back to erratic disclosure of expressions and feelings.
I actually feel...awkward.
Maybe I just need to learn how to tune my guitar.
Maybe I should just leave it entirely, making it of as a trail of youth that I shall walk away from.
Under one umbrella of conformity, you couldn't even call that melodramatic.
Success comes with a price of complexity.
Especially when quotes, are only deemed quotable, when other people think they are.
Not when a self principle rules that it shall thus be a gimmick of the mind.
On to the show.
---
I'm not much up for ecstatic,
Or anything cinematic,
I just hope that the rain would stop.
Because the signboard on the left side,
Of main street and the nightlife,
We left to get a life for ourselves.
I'm not much up for anything at all,
When the city people,
Want to forget who they are.
They say u can't run away,
From civilisation.
I told them,
Who's running away here?
Not much for reconciliation,
When the pitiful left their stations.
Exciting lighting,
They will sing,
The electric thing,
We used to dance to.
Committing crimes,
With as much value as a dime,
Is it a waste of time,
Says who?
Great people make great mistakes,
Not grave mistakes.
And noticed that the last time I listened to The Strokes,
Which is supposedly the nominal favourite band of all time in my opined gesture of a post.
Was 2 months ago.
It was less of a sad revelation, then it was a disappointing one.
It is all winning glory when my career of structuralised arguments put into moot ends with a happy episode of pride and relief.
Relief....hmm.
That was it then. I did not want to let it go.
Because isn't that what relief is about? Releasing. Sure, struggles were meant to be part of the dogmatic package of hope. But the thing is without the toil there wouldn't be the oil that became the source of light...the source..
Of endlessly incoherent poetry.
You see, as an individual, I was never much up for planning..anything.
All of my poems are drafts, my thoughts subconsciously thrown into forms of words.
Until debate came and ruined that sense of randomness.
And now, when I try to revert back to erratic disclosure of expressions and feelings.
I actually feel...awkward.
Maybe I just need to learn how to tune my guitar.
Maybe I should just leave it entirely, making it of as a trail of youth that I shall walk away from.
Under one umbrella of conformity, you couldn't even call that melodramatic.
Success comes with a price of complexity.
Especially when quotes, are only deemed quotable, when other people think they are.
Not when a self principle rules that it shall thus be a gimmick of the mind.
On to the show.
---
I'm not much up for ecstatic,
Or anything cinematic,
I just hope that the rain would stop.
Because the signboard on the left side,
Of main street and the nightlife,
We left to get a life for ourselves.
I'm not much up for anything at all,
When the city people,
Want to forget who they are.
They say u can't run away,
From civilisation.
I told them,
Who's running away here?
Not much for reconciliation,
When the pitiful left their stations.
Exciting lighting,
They will sing,
The electric thing,
We used to dance to.
Committing crimes,
With as much value as a dime,
Is it a waste of time,
Says who?
Great people make great mistakes,
Not grave mistakes.
Friday, July 16, 2010
Footprints Dressed In Red
I took the call,
I started talking,
I lost it all,
When I start walking.
The same mistakes,
The old car plates,
I thought you can't,
But you were late.
I just wanna be the one who cares,
When the sun alights the whispering ears.
Old history cage,
Why have u ceased?
I thought the wall,
Was to release.
A hedonist,
A lack of crisp,
You shine the sea,
Like glass in mist.
I just thought that you were closer,
Than the lightest star in the universe,
But you proved yourself wrong,
So I'm singing this song
When you left the young years,
Just to be with your peers,
I was wrong,
Was i right?
That you'll leaving - while bleeding - the fight.
Footprints Dressed In Red,
Identities Left In Bed,
You Are,
The Sin,
I Wished I Didn't.
I started talking,
I lost it all,
When I start walking.
The same mistakes,
The old car plates,
I thought you can't,
But you were late.
I just wanna be the one who cares,
When the sun alights the whispering ears.
Old history cage,
Why have u ceased?
I thought the wall,
Was to release.
A hedonist,
A lack of crisp,
You shine the sea,
Like glass in mist.
I just thought that you were closer,
Than the lightest star in the universe,
But you proved yourself wrong,
So I'm singing this song
When you left the young years,
Just to be with your peers,
I was wrong,
Was i right?
That you'll leaving - while bleeding - the fight.
Footprints Dressed In Red,
Identities Left In Bed,
You Are,
The Sin,
I Wished I Didn't.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Drunk Donkey
Never should have known,
How the racer beats his own,
Record track,
How I'd go back.
Honey, it's a trick,
For when they tell you're not sick,
Where's your catch,
Where's the last pick?
Vases have been broken,
And pieces have been picked up,
I don't know what you've spoken,
In the light of every song.
Honey, I've been dreaming again,
That we were friends and not pretend,
Cause eighty years is too much to understand.
I'm happy for you,
Too compromising too,
What's sincere in love,
Is always sincere in view,
Shade off all elegance,
'Cause you don't know when to do,
What to do.
Capitalism, was the last one to let go,
Then communist in dresses, was the one to let you grow,
Baby I'm all for equal distribution but I'm broke,
I see life through lenses, not eyes or even ghosts.
So be..nice.
Be nice.
And farewell,
Good night.
How the racer beats his own,
Record track,
How I'd go back.
Honey, it's a trick,
For when they tell you're not sick,
Where's your catch,
Where's the last pick?
Vases have been broken,
And pieces have been picked up,
I don't know what you've spoken,
In the light of every song.
Honey, I've been dreaming again,
That we were friends and not pretend,
Cause eighty years is too much to understand.
I'm happy for you,
Too compromising too,
What's sincere in love,
Is always sincere in view,
Shade off all elegance,
'Cause you don't know when to do,
What to do.
Capitalism, was the last one to let go,
Then communist in dresses, was the one to let you grow,
Baby I'm all for equal distribution but I'm broke,
I see life through lenses, not eyes or even ghosts.
So be..nice.
Be nice.
And farewell,
Good night.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Sometimes Static
Is it some kind of function,
Of weak constructions,
Of where you've always been?
In the melodious way, my fingers left the keyboard's ivory
bay.
From where the time seems obscene,
And why I couldn't just say what I mean.
And then the blackest nights,
Or the brightest light,
Just wanted to tell me,
Just tell them the story.
So I've compete in the string of lost heat,
Amidst deserts and boulevard streets,
Amidst kind winds and evil deceit,
Where I learned,
To create the things I want to discern,
To debate of all the lessons learned,
What taught me to be professionally yearned..
Taught me to be human.
And questions arise of which gender shares a higher similitude to animals of lower extend?
The fact that you have to specify to avoid misunderstanding.
Of people and beast, sharing unequal grounds, standing on...unbalanced feet.
Realistically, I've never been bored. Only the people I'm with, told me to feel as such.
Idealistically, I've been too caught up with reality.
I believe in God. Such a paramount statement to all other things that can be possibly implied.
In the darkness of dormitories, when the mind rests, giving way to a tempestuous heart.
"Aku nak jadi hedonis ar"
Musically, it all came true. I started becoming detached of things I once held dear.
With the excuse that I wasn't, initially, myself at all.
It had to be in the year where the slaves of theoretical cognitive take up a challenge of life and it's proceedings.
"SPM jauh lagi"
Sitting in the dinner table, in the tent that sheltered us from the blistering weather of the foreign.
Tearing red farcical tears, saying "I want to wake up, I want to wake up, I want to wake up"
I never meant the silent tantrums, I never meant to appease the elderly servant of life's compassionate and subservient status quo.
"DON'T BREAK THE STATUS QUO IF EVERYONE'S HAPPY WITH IT"
But I question how revolutions happened throughout the entirety of history? Because of the majority that was happy with it? Or because of the few who wasn't?
I was lying to everyone. I was lying even to the wino, what more to the marijuana and her forgiving demeanour?
I am not a rebel in a complacent society.
I am an apathetic, in a society of unnecessarily redundant vigor.
Despite all of those things I wasn't planning on doing...I did them anyway.
"Whatever trance you're under"
So silently, how else can it come to me....whispers of "Where are you?"
Who am I talking about,
At times, I'm not even sure myself.
But when the lights go out,
I remember
"And you'll find out that 'being yourself' isn't just about being something no one has ever been"
I believe in God. Please don't make that a past tense.
I gave up all of the sense of existence I fabricated.
Of weak constructions,
Of where you've always been?
In the melodious way, my fingers left the keyboard's ivory
bay.
From where the time seems obscene,
And why I couldn't just say what I mean.
And then the blackest nights,
Or the brightest light,
Just wanted to tell me,
Just tell them the story.
So I've compete in the string of lost heat,
Amidst deserts and boulevard streets,
Amidst kind winds and evil deceit,
Where I learned,
To create the things I want to discern,
To debate of all the lessons learned,
What taught me to be professionally yearned..
Taught me to be human.
And questions arise of which gender shares a higher similitude to animals of lower extend?
The fact that you have to specify to avoid misunderstanding.
Of people and beast, sharing unequal grounds, standing on...unbalanced feet.
Realistically, I've never been bored. Only the people I'm with, told me to feel as such.
Idealistically, I've been too caught up with reality.
I believe in God. Such a paramount statement to all other things that can be possibly implied.
In the darkness of dormitories, when the mind rests, giving way to a tempestuous heart.
"Aku nak jadi hedonis ar"
Musically, it all came true. I started becoming detached of things I once held dear.
With the excuse that I wasn't, initially, myself at all.
It had to be in the year where the slaves of theoretical cognitive take up a challenge of life and it's proceedings.
"SPM jauh lagi"
Sitting in the dinner table, in the tent that sheltered us from the blistering weather of the foreign.
Tearing red farcical tears, saying "I want to wake up, I want to wake up, I want to wake up"
I never meant the silent tantrums, I never meant to appease the elderly servant of life's compassionate and subservient status quo.
"DON'T BREAK THE STATUS QUO IF EVERYONE'S HAPPY WITH IT"
But I question how revolutions happened throughout the entirety of history? Because of the majority that was happy with it? Or because of the few who wasn't?
I was lying to everyone. I was lying even to the wino, what more to the marijuana and her forgiving demeanour?
I am not a rebel in a complacent society.
I am an apathetic, in a society of unnecessarily redundant vigor.
Despite all of those things I wasn't planning on doing...I did them anyway.
"Whatever trance you're under"
So silently, how else can it come to me....whispers of "Where are you?"
Who am I talking about,
At times, I'm not even sure myself.
But when the lights go out,
I remember
"And you'll find out that 'being yourself' isn't just about being something no one has ever been"
I believe in God. Please don't make that a past tense.
I gave up all of the sense of existence I fabricated.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
A Rhythm
Three can be complete without the rest of the world,
Three can be complete, what's with the rest of the world,
Do it for the people who were there for your sake,
An entire generation whose got nothing to say.
How to leave the world to be?
Oh, let's say you make do with me,
Cause I know your name and your homer trap,
When we're all trashed up,
With the things we felt,
And we'll always say,
That we might need help,
We could just go off at the next red light,
If it don't make sense,
Or it don't feel right.
All the ghouls can never make me fear them the way I love you.
Can't you see the sky is not the limit no more,
I can see the other way to crash to the floor,
I can see siesta day sailing away,
Seven billion people whose got nothing to say.
What you coming home to be?
Well I saw your face,
When I heard that song,
It was so inviting,
That it harped my bones,
Well it looks like you,
But your eyes astray,
When your head is gone,
But your mind's okay,
Yes I like to smile,
When my forehead's cold,
I don't want you to be afraid and go.
I was fixing lights and steel, then I'm staring at a home that pleads for you.
I was waiting,
For my lazy,
To arrive,
Right by my side.
Oh, please, leave me an oath tonight,
Forget the pest.
Three can be complete without the rest of the world,
Oh, I wouldn't say it just to get you to laugh,
Do it for the people that would die for you sake,
An entire generation of entertainers to blame.
Light is red,
The camera's on,
Get yourself a lawyer and a gun,
Paint your friends whose friend's like everyone,
Trying can be so competitive.
Oh the sky's not the limit,
And we're never gonna guess what is.
Three can be complete, what's with the rest of the world,
Do it for the people who were there for your sake,
An entire generation whose got nothing to say.
How to leave the world to be?
Oh, let's say you make do with me,
Cause I know your name and your homer trap,
When we're all trashed up,
With the things we felt,
And we'll always say,
That we might need help,
We could just go off at the next red light,
If it don't make sense,
Or it don't feel right.
All the ghouls can never make me fear them the way I love you.
Can't you see the sky is not the limit no more,
I can see the other way to crash to the floor,
I can see siesta day sailing away,
Seven billion people whose got nothing to say.
What you coming home to be?
Well I saw your face,
When I heard that song,
It was so inviting,
That it harped my bones,
Well it looks like you,
But your eyes astray,
When your head is gone,
But your mind's okay,
Yes I like to smile,
When my forehead's cold,
I don't want you to be afraid and go.
I was fixing lights and steel, then I'm staring at a home that pleads for you.
I was waiting,
For my lazy,
To arrive,
Right by my side.
Oh, please, leave me an oath tonight,
Forget the pest.
Three can be complete without the rest of the world,
Oh, I wouldn't say it just to get you to laugh,
Do it for the people that would die for you sake,
An entire generation of entertainers to blame.
Light is red,
The camera's on,
Get yourself a lawyer and a gun,
Paint your friends whose friend's like everyone,
Trying can be so competitive.
Oh the sky's not the limit,
And we're never gonna guess what is.
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