14th March 2022

What have you done, Ruskovich, my son?

Why have you banded together with Belaruskovich, my other son,

To bring death and destruction upon your own brother, Ukranovich,

Upon his children, his wives, his livestock, his farms, 

His grazing fields, his share of the inheritance?

Were you so jealous of him that you coveted his children, 

His wives, his livestock, his farms, his grazing fields,
His share of the inheritance 

Apart from having your own children, your own wives, 

Your own livestock, your own farms, 

Your own grazing fields, your own share of the inheritance?

You have inherited this murderous gene from your ancestors,
Your forefather, Cain,
Who killed in cold blood his own brother, Abel,
Out of sheer jealousy, 
When he saw the offerings his brother brought from his flock
Were more favored in the eyes of God

Than the offerings he brought from his fields.

Should he not have pondered on how he might find favor 

In the eyes of God

By following his brother's example
With burnt offerings of choice cuts of meat dripping with fat
And whose aroma was pleasing to the Lord
Instead of killing him in cold blood
And denying his murderous deed afterwards?

You are making your ancestors proud, Ruskovich, my son,
By following in their murderous footsteps.

Here, Ruskovich, my son, here is a length of rope.
Hopefully, it will be long enough for you
To hang yourself with it.

10th March 2022

So blessed was my Malaysia
From shore to sandy shore,
Serene and postcard perfect,
Untouched by Putin's war.

May curses by the truckload
For every Slavic dead
By Putin's bloodied hand
Fall onto Putin's head.
 

 

30th January 2022

Mrs. Selvaraj (not her real name), 

My Indian neighbor a stone's throw away,

Was like a mother to me, 

Always concerned about my ever-increasing household cat population

Which by the way was welcomed in a household 

Where Death was not only not a stranger 

But also only eight months ago

Claimed the lives of six babies, 

Two children and four grandchildren,

Six-to-seven-month-old teenagers,

In the space of one week,

Resulting in their adoptive momma cat,

A senior momma cat without babies of its own,

Suffering a stroke on the third day of searching for them in vain

And eventually dying within a month

From a broken heart

Mostly

As did I

In a less fatal manner

Perhaps as she knew I was temporarily out of a job by choice, 

And hence was concerned from the financial point of view

More than anything else,

Just as she was very concerned, 

And always took an interest,

In pointing out to me,

The cat poop spots I sometimes accidentally overlooked

By the side of the road,

And always opposite her house,

Every time I went around this part of the neighborhood,

Cat poop scoop equipment in hand,

In search of cat poop to scoop up from wherever it might be

found,

Usually on a sandy spot in front of someone's house

Or along the side of the road,

Or someone's cement-work-in-progress sand pile nearby,

If one was available,

As was the case at present.


Poor Mrs. Selvaraj (not her real name),

My Indian neighbor a stone's throw away, 

For she would surely suffer a heart attack,

If she knew, 

Apart from my existing household cat population boom,

The earlier-batch babies of two momma cats,

Two children and three grandchildren,

Who should be in their teens by now

And missing the whole day today too,

Were probably out there somewhere looking for mates,

The boys looking for girls, the girls looking for boys,

To mate with,

Or, in other words,

And on a lighter note,

Babies making babies.

 

20th January 2021 (EST)

 

Be comforted, O World, be comforted

And know thou wilt sleep peacefully tonight

As thou wilt for the next four years

As global peace and stability hast been reborn

On this historic day,

A day marking the inauguration of the next president of the United States

And a sensible one at that

And the departure of the outgoing president

And a delusional, self-righteous and psychotic loose cannon at that

On account of whom global peace and stability

Was at risk of being vaporized in a flash of blinding light and smoke

Every single day these four tumultuous years past,

I kid you not.

14th October 2020

You asked me if you looked pretty,
This was yesterday;
I said, "Yes,"
Bewildered by the question.

Today I asked if it was the headscarf
I was supposed to have noticed yesterday,
Still bewildered by it.

You laughed and said,"What, still obsessed by it
For the last forty-eight hours?"
Although in not so many words.

Therefore, I have sworn, with upheld hand,
That for the next forty-eight years, not hours,
You will not see my face again,
At least not a face that looks at you
As it once did in better times.

I will take no interest in whether you live or die,
Marry or have children,
Grow old and ugly or whatever,
For the next forty-eight years.

Only then will you know who I am;
Only then will you know when I love someone,
I do so with all my heart,
And when I hate someone,
I do so wholeheartedly as well.

Away from me, you whose venom
Was like that of a poisonous snake;
Never again will you stab my heart
With that needle-sharp tongue of yours
For the next forty-eight years,
So help me God.

15th July 2020

Like a bereaved mother

Coping with the loss

Of all ten of her grandchildren

In a tragic boating accident,

Or some such calamity,

So was I.

Your babies,

Eve,

And yours too,

Mama Cat,

And yours too,

Skinny One,

Alas,

It was only yesterday,

It seems,

This household was filled

With the happy sound

Of their tiny,

Or not-so-tiny,

Feet

Whichever the case might've been,

This now silent and empty household,

Silent and empty

Except for four indifferent cats

And one lifeless hooman.

27th October 2019

Banshees shrieking through the night

Amidst the sound of gunfire and deafening explosions

Heralding the arrival of yet another festive occasion of the respective sort

In the middle of the night

Here in fireworks-crazy-firecrackers-loving Malaysia.