A Bullock Cart From Malacca Poem by Sulaiman Mohd Yusof
A Bullock Cart From Malacca
Long and winding road
with patches and holes
The holes which sometimes
turned into small ponds,
every time
after a heavy downpour
You can no longer smell the tar
on a hot, burning day
The road was too old
even the town council named it
the road to cemetery
A rural town
occupied by
Malay farmers,
rubber tapers
and pensioners
living in kampong
An enormous green paddy field
spreaded in the middle,
next to the road
Sandwiched by villagers'
Meranti wooden Atap houses.
To get to the town
walk your way,
cycling
don't miss the bus
or you have to wait
for another hour to get one
(you can take a pirate taxis that operate in odd hours)
Small streams crossed
at the center of the rice fields
The streams that supplied enough
fresh water fish
for the villagers to consume
Vegetables were grown
like mushrooms
covering most of front and backyards
Fruits farm aplenty and became
local delights
whenever the season comes
Every house had their Well,
as deep as 10 meter
with cold fresh water
being channeled from the nearby hill named Bukit Lintang
The vast green land
were also scattered
with cows, goats, sheeps and water buffalos
owned by the villagers.
In the evening
images of small kids
riding on buffalo's back
on the way homes
is a typical scene,
which need to be captured
on films
for nostalgic reasons.
In the misty morning
where dawn had just emerged
villagers throwing
dried corns,
rice to the grounds.
Hungry poultry
feeds their way through.
School going kids
walked 3 miles to school,
cutting through plantations,
paddy field
for the shorten route.
The sound of azan
(calls for prayers five times a day required by Muslims)
echoed from the surau and mosque,
could be heard across the village.
To own a vehicle is luxury
Bullock Cart (wagon pulled by cows)
was used in redundant.
Ferrying firewood,
rice sacks,
for shipment
to the town called Masjid Tanah
sometimes ferrying villagers
to attend weddings
in the neighborhood
or just a bunch of cheerful kids
who like to have a ride
around the kampong.
I remembered
I was having a great time
taking a ride on this bullock cart
owned by my grandfather,
going to town
whenever I paid him a visit.
I was 8 years old
Riding the time of my life
Befriended the bulls
Bonded
And sacred
Kampong Solok Air Batu
Will always on my mind
Well, no matter how far I traveled
The reminiscent of being part of kampong's folk
riding the Bullock Cart
will still and forever (which I hope)
remain in my mind
Thanks folks
for the memories.
What a lovely piece of descriptive prose. I enjoyed it very much. Unfortunately I have never been able to visit but you have brought the journey to life for me. Thank you. Irene
One can feel the rhythm of your bullock cart in the short, stacatto lines of this fascinating piece. Your descriptions are most detailed and show the reader a colorful selection of images of your once upon a time. Thanks for sharing your story. A reflective, nostalgic write. love, Allie ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
I took a break in the corridor of time look back upon the days of yore traditions and warmth are worth remembered yet the pace of time never stops....
A stunning word-picture. You are rooted on earth, however far you may travel. - Will
amazing narrative, going down the memory lane. i think life was simple in those days gone by and we had simple pleasures. i too often feel nostalgic about the small place i grew up in. for the last 35 years i am living in metros, and it honestly gets to me. please read life in a metro.Yusof 10++ for this lovely poem.
whoa, quite the storyteller i see.....it's great to see the importance that can still be found in simplicity and a sense of home.
This poem is brilliant, i felt an Indian village somewhere in those lines, beautifull placing, a very good poem
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/19/2024 10:35:31 PM # 1.0.0.1119
After visiting melacca, I must admit I was awed by the carts well decorated and the unhurried pace of life. I was also shown to jusco, burger king etc, and a very beautiful mosque of rare beauty. I must admit though, after i read ur poem, That i missed out on the real beauty of the village or kampong as u so well term it. I would love to go there once again to discover melacca.