Best Asia Poems
31/10/18
Beneath a pale sky of bleakest white,
Songs carried by the eastern wind,
The faint sounds of flutes and lesser known cries,
Reveal a surface less skimmed.
The slowest of flicks by a wise older wrist,
With contentment despite all the noise,
A story to tell at the call of five bells,
Displaying of true grace and poise.
Manicured plants, slow songs and arts,
Early Sundays a skew,
To walk on this road, a foreign mind wanders,
To feel one of only a few.
This once was a place of long pondered dreams,
Of esthetic smoke screens,
Of mystery wonder and awe,
Now shrouded behind bureaucratic decline,
Can China be China once more?
Dear Asia.
I was awakened in the middle of the night
with you on my mind. By the time the clock
struck 12:40 AM, the tears had already appeared.
Before I could wipe those wet-drops away, three
words gushed from the depths of my heart and lay
siege to my mind. I lay there for a good while until
I knew that this heartfelt emotion had to be recorded
and shared with you while it was fresh in my spirit.
Without any utterings from my lips, my heart was
clearly saying, "I'm sorry, Asia". I was feeling
your pain, a pain that must have evaded me 2 years
ago. Two years ago, I think that I was overwhelmed
with the pain I was feeling about losing my little
granddaughter. You were spreading your wings in
directions that terrified me.
I was sorry because I wasn't prepared to see you
through your growing pains. I think that I became
afraid of what I could no longer influence. Papa Girl
was the only you That I knew, and when I no longer saw her,
I became angry and weak, unable to see you through your
hard times that you considered to be your good times.
I felt shut out of your life, and I didn't know how
to keep knocking at the door of a grown-up young lady
who had a mind of her own. You were no longer the
Papa Girl whom I once knew and took to school for
12 years and more.
I'm sorry, Asia, for being weak when you needed me
to be strong enough, understanding enough, and flexible
enough to acquaint myself with the grown-up you. I'm sorry
for not being accepting and loving enough to let go.
Again, I'm sorry Asia. Please forgive me.
Grandpa.
Part Two
Older in age
younger in growth
still heeding His Master’s Voice
the Great swirling dark illiterate masses
led by less than nought point nought nought nought nought nought nought nought to the power of 32
who prefer nukes for toys
at the cost of common everyday joys
These that hanker after the departed master’s pat on the back
for the Man-Booker
for the National Book Award
for the Fullbright
for the Visiting Professorship and/or IIAS Fellowship
for the Ivy League-Oxbridge doctoral degree
for in short the Master’s pedigree-conferring embrace
These who do not know
do not want to know
do not wish to know
will not know
if there’s a difference
between a Genji Monogatari or the Monkey
between a Sakuntala or the Gitanjali
between a poem and a public parade
These that will *******ons of postcolonial muck
And oblige their students to gorge every bit with spit
Just to stamp careers with their brainprints
These that will turn their coat
turn their tongue
turn their souls
for a Nobel
These that preen strut pout pose pretend
mouth ready to swill the millesium
this bouquet mind you titillates the left corner of the upper palate
like a petal unfolding in spring from a hymen
the dark obedient swirling masses lie dumb night after never-ending night
to ebola and dingue and chikungunya swill water
shrivelling their cramped contorted viscera
(Continued in Part Two - 2)
Your bombs and canons come late far too late now to put together your sundered arms
no use crying robber in Kashmir when the poor hunger for a bowl of dusty gruel
nor stretch your mighty legs over the Palk Straits to proclaim your integral faith
Wake! India! Wake!
There are no borders to the staunchly raised in unbending respect and unrelenting loyalty
there is no need for police-ed borders for those who are tied to you by blood
there’re only stretches of unfathomable water so much un-scaleable mountainous frights
Wake! Asia! Wake!
And draw your sons and daughters about you they who inherit your fate
tell them not when they may act or how just let them gather around you
with time if you wake up in time they’ll hoist you to Himalayan heights
Wake! Now! Asia! Wake! Before It’s Too Late!
© T.Wignesan 1996/2001
(Written between April 7th and 20th, 1996; revised February 2001 and published in The Asianists’ Asia, Vol. II, March 2001, and in T. Wignesan. Rama and Ravana at the Altar of Hanuman. Chennai : Institute of Asian Studies, 2006.
[from the “original version” in the collection: longhand notes (a binding of poems), 1999]
It is night yet in the West
and the planes land between listlessly burning tarmac lamps
stealthy fingers scurrying through diadems of neons halogens and amber
Wake! O! Asia! Wake!
The cowherds’ bare blistered feet already trample yesterday’s dust into mud
and cartwheels strain in crusted fissures where rains fell only once or twice
while dreams fester in cosy centrally-heated silken beds in luxury flats
Wake! O! Asia! Wake!
Tomorrow is yesteryear’s planned strikes
buses trains taxis office machines lie soundlessly asleep
and will not wake until the battle over psychic comfort comes to an end
Wake! O! Asia! Wake!
For You there is no respite no pause
no tea-breaks with cheese biscuits or croissants
there’s only the last container to crane over the dock in unpaid overtime
Wake! O! Asia! Wake!
Your eyes will hurt in the twilight’s hazy glimmer
no time to brush your teeth nor shave in hot and cold running water
nor the right to flush a toilet nor heedlessly course through in cosy tubes to work
Wake! O! Asia! Wake!
The sirens rave through boulevards in broad night-light
rushing hypertensic cardiac cases from their delight-full beds
cholestrol and diabetic cane sugar within reach of every child in supermarkets
Wake! O! Asia! Wake!
Let those who succeeded their former masters
sip their sweet sweatless porto before the hors-d’oeuvres
and flap their tabliers hiding their secret shame under cabalistic arms
Wake! O! Asia! Wake!
Wake! there’s little time left for your own bickering differences to fester
the dawn signals the tasks that lie ahead unfinished
and the carrion hunters trained in their old master’s image club together
Wake! O! Asia! Wake!
(Continued in Part One - 2)
The ear may love before the eye.
So we were told without a lie.
I heard Malaysia was a pearl on the shore.
I saw some pictures people would adore.
I heard stories that would the soul lift.
I think Malaysia is Allah's amazing gift.
At last the ear and eye settled there.
How lovely was the stay, how rare!
A lot of rain around the year, so many greens.
So many lovely birds, so many lovely scenes.
With beautiful moves and songs to captivate.
And cause the heart and mind to contemplate.
Everywhere I walked felt like paradise.
People living there were all very nice.
I once had a shower in the pure rain.
I heard some say “he had no brain!”
I laughed out loud and felt insane!
06/01/2017
(Continued from Part Two - 2)
While those that lay claim, nay, boast of
to the largest democratic state
a bi-cameral constitution
simply inherited from Westminister
as much as the unifying language
and the soi-disant socialist stamp
transported lock stock and tablier
from a Cambridge freemasonic lodge
by the Nehru dynasty progenitor
look the other way
with thumb and index closing on nostrils
when their pariah cart their faeces away
and still after millennia acknowledge and uphold the Brahmin
the self-proclaimed superior priesthood caste
those who speak for the Godhead Brahman
albeit speak with Him in the only sacred Sanskrit tongue
thus to be enthroned
on the highest pure-blooded pedestal
Can there be an Asia
the cradle of quarrelling Gods
which can listen to the little voice within
the voice of innocence
Is there an ASIA
or
are there asias
As there were warring Euro-nations…
[ to be continued ]
© T.Wignesan 1996/2001
(Written between April 7th and 20th, 1996; revised February 2001/2012 and published in The Asianists’ Asia, Vol. II, March 2001, an on-line journal [from the “original version” in the collection: longhand notes (a binding of poems), 1999]
Published in T. Wignesan. Rama and Ravana at the Altar of Hanuman: on Tamils, Tamil Literature and Tamil Culture. Chennai: Institute of Asian Studies, 2006.
(Continued from Part Two - 1)
Nothing of the foisoning ageold homegrownwine
strained through Ol’ Kayyam’s ever draining ruba’iyat bowl
keeps vigil in their scelerosed veins
I will slap this officious reason
In the face with wine in hand
Who so bold to slap sense into the buttressed elus
But those drunk with common insolence sense
Darius the First built a confining wall
around the Greco-Roman Empire’s eastern front
a first wall of self-will
Gengiz Khan tore it down with his sabersharp teeth
after climbing deftly through the David Copperfield hole
in the Great Wall
See how Mao stemmed the tide with his Long March
Only to wall in his Zhong Guo
An Asia within an Asia
The Central Asian Crown
to be propped up again either by vassal states
or by tribute offering nations in return for health-giving largesse
while tough little Viets struggled without wailing on bare feet
to sling the Twentieth Century’s Goldorak down to an ignominious fall
while those that weep after twenty lost centuries at their Wailing Wall
wall their brethren in a closely policed jail
wailing at every television reprisal performance
their insecure un-Godly fate in the dead sea of faiths
at the bare hands of suicidal wall breakers
hemmed in around their waists
like those fencesitters
the Greater East Asia
Prosperity builders who
let MacArthur gird them behind an Ocean Wall
silent superior-thinking men and women
unable to wish their neighbours bonjour
even after the unhealed unhealing wounds inflicted
by kamikaze samurais
walled in behind obsequious bending backs
and mechanical smiling faces
What brews in quiet what festers in stealth
Asia’s white master race
a Botha-deemed non-apartheid equal
ONE of the seven rulers of this world
(Continued in Part Two -3)
West has supported us
sinserely and honestly
planting seeds of democracy
and sustainable society
in our crude land,
but hearts of our people
still attached very strong
to old illusions,
and Kremlin genius
very artful and virtuoso
manipylated and played with our post-soviet nostalgias and syndromes,
pushing us back in USSR on and on.
We have hated our freedom, alas,
and greed for instant hot money along.
Humiliation not the word,
tell me, experts, how long
this tragicomedy in 1/7 part of world prolong?
Lord Buddha, the light of Asia.......
Lord Buddha was a son of King Suddhodana of the Gautama in India
He carried his name as Siddhartha during his childhood
He become a Buddha after found enlightenment under the Bodhi tree
where he went in deep contemplation of the Dharma, residing
in the perfect peace of nirvana
Lord Buddha died 2500 years ago but his teaching
of love and wisdom are still very much alive.
Lord Buddha was divine power of all wisdom
and truth who held love in this universe with faith
Whoever follows his teaching become free from selfishness,
hatred and greed.
Also, their heart gets purified with all his preachings
Lord Buddha opposed animal sacrifice and asked his followers
to stop cruelty and extend kindness to all living things.
He also asked his followers to take care of all the sick people
According to Hinduism he was known true reincarnation of Lord Vishnu
Let us spread his divine teaching and make this world peaceful
Because Lord Buddha is the light that illuminates always
Ravi Sathasivam / Sri Lanka
Copyright @2004 Ravi Sathasivam
Make haste to befriend the toro meanly reared away from spectator prying eyes
by dread alone the bull is nurtured and prodded to terrify
and when at last the ranchero’s silhouette appears in the arena it charges
Wake! India! Wake!
There are no greater mysteries than those your scientists can unravel
the only mysteries that persist are those drummed by priests into your brains
even a helpless Stephen Hawking can pierce the Aryan mystery by silent reflection
Wake! India! Wake!
Let those who seek power in the polls seek it for their own sakes
sooner or later sooner than later they too will pass away
their power gnawing at their bones will feed the etherising flames of their pyres
Wake! India! Wake!
Let those who seek to challenge their power challenge it for their own sakes
they too will rot in the chains they have willingly chained themselves in
for they too seek power for the sake of power and for theirs and their own comfort
Wake! India! Wake!
And let them all pass over you you who have borne in quiet pain
mauling under the pretext of mournful migrations and the Mughal might
Mohenjodaro and Harrappa notwithstanding Vijayanagar and Kaveripumpattinam
Wake! India! Wake!
Do not for a moment think your sons have deserted you
nor your daughters gone to spawn with other spouses under other suns
your needs are their needs your tears their blood coursing in their veins
Wake! India! Wake!
If you had woken up earlier to tend to your shores to tend to the marauders at the border
letting only the lone Kshatriya exert his martial art abused by fine courtly comfort
you would not now wonder how a Rajput court at Mewar drove Akbar to such lengths
Wake! India! Wake!
(Continued in Part One - 10)
Hey,come 3rd quarter of each calender year, it is that time of the year again,
This phenomenon is headlined in local dailies each day, again and again...
An enviromental situation, all kinds of experts in general do agree...
A regular man-made consequence from widespread clearing and burning of trees..
All over the country, as in the whole Asian region, the sun is but a blur pall of crimson...
Evidence of the filtering effects of the haze particles in atmospheric conditions..
This pall of haze or jerebu is now a password upon which to start a conversation...
Something akin to the British How's The Weather way of striking up a conversation..
Make a comment about this hazy situation and you can be sure of an observation...
That something urgent needs to be quickly done to elevate this distressing condition...
Everyman in the street is aware of this thick smoky mist that envelope the environment...
People are advised to use face masks to reduce the intake of unhealthy irritants...
Even as the sale of face masks are flying off the shelves, what a situation...
People with breathing problems like asthma are to stay indoors, lessen outdoor exertions..
Scheduled flights has to be cancelled unless flying visibility index is acceptable...
Schools are ordered to close when the official haze index breach certain levels...
Cloud seeding efforts are in force to seed rainfall which will clear considerably the opaque sky..
Just so that such unhealthy and unfavourable conditions will not cloud future skies...
Government efforts are intensified to once again negotiate for cross border cooperation...
Time and again, all these actions are routine responses to mitigate the people's indignation...
For year to year, we the public , suffer all kinds of inconveniences and challenges..
When each calender year enters the 3rd quarter, we suffer again this haze in stages..
Hopes are high, maybe this year things will be different, things will be better...
Down come the promised rain and the situation clears, until the next year...
When once again we all go through the whole rigmorale of negotiations and deliberations...
Safety measures and advice for the masses, cloud seeding efforts and of course, fervent prayers...
Welcome to the haze situation here in Asia...!
Oh! Black Americans,
Africa is your motherland
And most Africans love you
Not because you are called African Americans
And lost your African mother tongues
And cultures.
Being called Americans while speaking
African dialects , suit the most.
Did you hear about some people called "European Americans" in USA
To trace where they came from?
Oh!Black Americans,
I can advise you to learn " Swahili" and Continue to develop it in America.
Or mix up some African languages and come out with your new lingo - version and call it " Americaans" which will be differ to American English.
Make sure majority of Africans understand Americaans
Like Afrikaans in Germany, Belgium and Nederland.
Afrikaans could be called "Europeans" because it is a mixture of some European languages.
People speaking it are proudly Africans
As they are citizens
Of Africa.
They don't forget their motherland either.
If you wish to come back
To one of 54 African countries to stay,
The doors are always opened for you.
Oh!Black Americans,
Some Tamil, Telugu, Urdu
Hindi,Marathi, Tulu,
Malayalam, Marwari, Odia,
Bengali, Kannada,
Memoni, Gujarati,
Sindhi,Konkani
Awadhi people were slaves in South Africa
And they ended up being
South African Citezens
They forgot slavary and
Worked so hard to get wealths
Now majority of them are very rich
Than many people in India and pakistan
They did not forget their cultures
And traditions.
Oh! Black Americans ,
Remember,
In Africa ,
For Bantu to love and
Hate each other , it is not a new acappella.
In Asia ,
For Tamilians to love and
Hate each other, it is not a new salsa.
In India,
For Telugu to love and
Hate each other ,It is not a new lyric.
In South Africa,
For Afrikaners and British people to love and
Hate each other, it is not new samba.
In Belgium,
For walloons and flamands to love and
Hate each other, it is not a new rhythm.
In Canada ,
For French and British people to love and
Hate each other , it is not a new rhumba.
Remember ,
Hate and love are enemies
Who always lived together
From their creation.
By Alfonso Warally Ngengethe
Mussabwa Chris
Alexander Rise
Strap On Your Golden Armor
The World Shall Be Yours
Wake! and see the extent to which you’re still enslaved
enslaved by your own kind who hanker after conditioning platitudes
the clubby comfort of secretly oath-taking power cliques
Wake! O! Asia! Wake!
Remember! Remember Haidar Ali his son Tipu and Akbar
remember Sivaji and Chandra Bose and Kattapomman and Asoka
remember O! remember the one and only Mahatma
Wake India! O! Wake!
Wake! India! Wake! and see how your destitute generations are shunned aside
in infested villages sans drains sans potable water sans hope
see how they’re bound in mantric incantating castiron caste strictures
Wake! O! India! Wake!
No where else in the world are humans so in-humane-ly stratified
what proof have the Brahmins to issue forth from Brahma’s head
who proclaimed them the chosen elite on top of the Indian pile of castes
Wake! O! India! Wake!
Wake! and see how your northern brethren have cast off their spiritual shackles
even if they had abjured the path of the just to yoke their bodies
yet for each child a vaccine a soja-filled stomach to keep slavers away
Wake! O! India! Wake!
Wake! O! India! Wake before it’s too late!
for your own kind are about to enslave you once all over again
and the old master needs hardly despatch troops to proclaim his divine law
Wake! India! Wake!
Wake and watch how your elite ape and espouse the ways of the old master
how for an air-ticket a stipend per diem they would do you in without compunction
how for some lions memberships in select clubs they’d betray your own true kind
Wake! O! Asia! Wake!
Wake! O! Indonesia! Wake and see how the G.N.P. in Singapore
far outweighs that of the former papal Portugal now
how the four fiery Eastern Dragons no more parade in papier maché garb
Wake! Indonesia! Wake!
(Continued in Part One - 3)