a poet knows nothing best than a seer, nay neither
touches like a magician nor prays like a monk, yet!
feel the tremendous heart that breathes and sees the
oozing shadow of the light, a poet lives
...
now the bedbug
finally finds
its place
in one of the lines
...
whose is my brother? many times in our lives ask,
the lucid meaning of brotherhood, though in our
hearts, the creator had already implanted us, the
truth of what it mean to be in one race
...
a foot that lift high can be the first step that reach the
highest pick of the sky, as the eyes move in every
distance that may cause envy the sweet tasteless
journey of the past, who have come into the most
...
into the unending work line comes a new beginning
of tolerance of adverse attitude, surfing the taste of
temper and luring smile
...
Malay is my race, build like
a warrior whose body and shape
ripen my strength to any battle
to protect the native land
...
I love to kiss the avenue of my youth, I
love to touch those beautiful flower that
floats in the pond, I do love to hug my
childhood memories, though I know
...
my darling ….. in the dream i saw you, in the clouds I waited
you to fly; for the sky is too high for me, to seat above your
knee of your love
...
there will be no other day but a memory of
today, just a dropp of rainbow of my life sharpen the
edge of the past and find the wounded last, out to rise;
and let me please return in the portray that makes
...
saved the mother earth, and witness the glooming
sky, as its dawning morn invites to come; calling the
humming birds laid the sweeten humid morning
midst of the trunk it’s lay
...