Oh, you wretched soul,
You scream and you shout and you mock me,
but you know not how,
a country is built, from sampans to skylines
You sit in front of your
sorry screen, typing tirades against
the ghosts of your ineptitude,
the regrets of your childhood,
when you chose machas and ah lians
over teachers and ten-years
You finger me, but the answer lies
in front of you, with your screen turned off,
and your pride pressed deep,
into your mud-stained Bata,
dirtied in drains then
masked with paint
But truly white, you’ll never be
and truly shrug, I never will
Behold my elite, caring face
Oh, you wretched soul
~
Oh, you wretched soul,
Shallow’ed be your bowl,
Hallowed be my bowl,
Yours iron, mine gold,
Hallowed be my bowl
~
Oh, you wretched soul,
You say you deserve more,
yet you know not about merit,
about equality for men
That if you lived
in any other place, you would
be nothing, a servant for suckers,
a driver for drunkards, a flag for fanatics
But here I make you something,
a servant for saints, a driver for diplomats,
a flag for the red, white, and white, For
all the world’s a rage, and this
your sole salvation, your Harried Heaven
A person like you has no more wants,
says my army of quants
Who says I don’t rhyme? Who says I don’t rap?
I’m too cool for your school, but
don’t look at my watch,
heavy on my thick skin, For you
will forever afford the most affordable forevers
The peasant in paradise is still in paradise
Oh, you wretched soul
~
Oh, you wretched soul,
Shallow’ed be your bowl,
Hallowed be my bowl,
Yours iron, mine gold,
Hallowed be my bowl
~
Oh, you wretched soul,
You groan about graft,
You moan about fellatio
But it is I who gives you morals, it is I who gives you virtue,
which I marshall with my cane, bloodied by Barisan buttocks
And when we do no wrong, it is because of
the sugar we need to keep us sweet
Peanuts for monkeys, so clubs, Cordons and chariots for Gods
And when the mortals among us are caught,
we drop them off our jumbo jet
Thank us for telling you that
The more we drop, the faster the jet
And the faster the jet, the more saviours to Savour, in
this endless ascent from perfect flats,
tai chi and wayang anytime, That’s
what they say,
for I cannot hear you, I cannot see you
Our lives touch but once,
In the heap of wooden sticks
that guard the hum free mee,
Don’t kong si mee,
Our makan’s the same, but
How’s the air down there?
Oh, you wretched soul
~
Oh, you wretched soul,
Shallow’ed be your bowl,
Hallowed be my bowl,
Yours iron, mine gold,
Hallowed be my bowl
~
Oh, you wretched soul
Oh, you wretched soul
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My other poems:
at peace!
Cool