Echoes of Chains A Poem on Colonization in Malaysia

Once, the rivers ran free and bold, Through emerald lands, rich with gold. Mountains whispered to the sky, Under the watchful, sovereign eye. Then came ships with foreign flags, Tongues of steel, and hearts of crags. They carved their names upon our soil, Turned our labor into toil. Spices bled from calloused hands, Traded dreams for foreign lands. Rubber trees stood, tall yet tied, Bound by laws the West applied. Sultan’s voice turned faint, unheard, Drowned beneath the master's word. Hands that built were hands enslaved, History’s pages torn and paved. Yet, through the storm, a spark remained, A whisper strong, unchained, unnamed. In the forests, hearts rebelled, Stories of warriors fiercely held. Merdeka rose with morning’s light, Breaking through the longest night. Chains had rusted, cracked, and fell, Freedom rang like gamelan bells. But echoes linger—soft yet deep, In names we keep, in wounds we weep. Still, we rise, through time’s embrace, Holding strong to roots and grace.