The Grim Reaper

At the start of your birth,
He lies await,
He wields a scythe and adds a new name to his list.

He is everywhere at once,
just bidding his time,
just waiting and waiting for his moment to arise.

To many he comes in a flash,
To some they foresee the signs,
But no one wins in a game of seek, while i hide.

We take no matter as we go about our day,
We are creatures of habit,
Not change.

Only when we head to church,
Only in black and white,
We pay our respects to the fallen,
And pray to god he’ll stop the strikes,
Only then do we think maybe,
What if,
Something might be wrong with our lives.

Some try to change for the better,
Some instead change for the worst,
But the wisest know better,
That changing is not us.

Only when we head to church,
In suits of black and white,
We pay our respects to the fallen,
And pray to god he’ll stop the strikes

When we go for Sunday mast,
And cross ourselves of sin,
Do we rarely think we do it, because we’re scared of him.
We drink the sacramental wine,
And we eat the bread of the lord,
Hoping that it’s Jesus,
Who will come to judge us all

Have we been mistaking it?
Have we got it wrong?
The judge of life and death,
Has actually been haunting us all.

He was there at our birth,
With a clock ticking back,
We’ve never had a say,
For our birth,
What more our death.
So i’d say welcome him with open arms,
For the inevitable will come,
When the clock has run out,
You’ll see him in the dark.




Only in death does life have meaning,
Only through seeing is believing,
Deep thoughts in our mind we keep preaching,
Things we can only hope to achieve through dreaming,
Only once I was a boy,
Only once I was a man,
I'll return back to dirt and sands,
All in God's wisdom and plans,
Truly tragic are things too late,
Things we can only rely on fate,
At the moment of passing,
A thousand things we had hope having,
Disintegrates, gone amidst time's tidal wave,
Hoping that at least a splinter from the shipwreck we could save,
But all gone, nothing left,
Those who can speak are mute, those who can hear turned deaf,
I hope as little regret in life,
Things on my mind I would constantly strive,
My will to my friends, my family, my love,
Set forth to the sun and fly free like a dove.

Muhammad Imran bin Muhammad Hilal, Seremban, Negeri Sembilan

The Death Letter

Immortally living through the decades,

Yet, bounded in a boundary of death by only her,

She glowed luminously of lively hue as bright as a sun,

She made him felt alive and dead,

‘Cause she was his first love,

Also his death call,

As they were destined to be in loved,

They happened to fall for each other,

His heart grew fondly day by day,

The cherry blossoms bloomed

in every streets he walked every time his heart

excite to the fullest,

The more jovial he got,

The more pain he felt,

It was autumn – the sensational pleasing

dying weather,

Just like him – beautiful but dead inside,

He made a promise between life and death on the very

first snowfall of the year,


They ended tragically,

His life ended on her hands,

He fell on his knees just like before,

And being washed away in the thin air as dust,

Peacefully sorrow.

Siti Nurzubaidah Binti Mohamed Anuar, Malacca

The Bad Man

Atuk was a bad man,

He split his family, lost his money

He drank the dark tearful sorrows away,

As he walked he abused,

The syahadah he refused,

He was a bad, violent, angry dark man.

He made people cry, ‘specially his wife,

As he stormed through life, he did it his way.

Make no mistake, he loved them.

In his own bad selfish way, he loved them.

His rough weaknesses distorted that love,

Beer upon beer, drinking made it curve,

and bend and warp and coiled,

His accidental failures destroyed,

decimating every life that was in

proximity! his life murdered plenty

This wasn’t just love, this was a family

and that success never comes easily,

Nobody finds that they can live happily

ever after; like the themes of Kafka

Family conflicts with love,

Love is a constant deed,

A family needs, a father must feed,

A father creates; a father, he failed.
Love? Love is a feeling, an intention,

The warm rocking of the waves, they push you

The gentle breeze; it caresses you too,

Love is romantic, it is a concept

Life has other plans for this dreadful man

Atuk gave me my first book, you must know this

He defended me against the rest of

my angry, confused, frowning family

Like an unused broken facsimile

He couldn’t stop, He never stopped.

Those long talks at the corner of the bed

Colored me long after; now I get it

he would’ve smiled at me once I got it

He would’ve smiled that sweet and toothless smile

Through the Benson & Hedges fog he smiled,

The bad man in his tattered kain pelikat

and that strong mixture of Old Spice and sweat

He was a charmer; handsome when he smiled

Man with a secret life, an angry wife,

Separated children, He smiled;

even when he was filled with strife

Never for me, I hope

Coz When he left I moped,

My mind on dope,

I lost that hope.

Atuk was a bad man, so it seemed

He beat, He screamed, He troubled and he dreamed

He failed and he broke until he was broke,

He drank He cursed He left

He left God Damn This Man He left

He comforts He talks He gave me chocolates

He gave me books he gave some proper words.

This horrible rojak that I concoct,

Proof that words are all I have ever got,

And the bad man with that smooth toothless smile ,

He gave these words to me

He was kind only to me,

The bad man; He loved me,

The bad man; He really truly loved ME

No matter where you are, handsome bad man,

Know that I love you, man

Oh, charming bad man with the toothless smile,

Let’s have a smoke together, you and me,

We’ll chat the night away

For the last and first time, we’ll chat and smoke.

Goodnight, bad man, Till we meet again, Tok.


AminTheRanter, Selangor.

Tick is a cliché sound

God will give, God will take.


And how noble is man?

Toiling all his years?


And what is Man?

Progression of his time.

Il faut tenter ce vivre


Toiling at five, toiling at seventy,

Toiling through in all eternity,

And the most you can do is carry on.


Et le vent s’est tombe’ toujours


And we are done.


(In memory of Ganesan Alagirisamy)


Liew, HW, KL.


Suffocated with all this pressure,

Yet they say “just go on and venture”.
Trapped within these four walls,

Nobody hears my heart calls.
Come back home, yearning for some ease,

And all I get is everything but peace.
This shadow is casted throughout the week,

And all I feel is nothing but weak.
Lonely and lost,

My heart turns to frost.
But what can I say?

well, all my emotions are still at bay.
How long before I break down?

Maybe never as I’m sadness bound.


Vydehgi Pillay, KL.

Here is not our place

Find me

in the piling rubble

the floating sands

of buildings that once gave shelter.

Find me

in between the bodies

the torn limbs

of your parents, your wife

Your sons and daughters.

Your legs are weary

of too much running

Your soul, grown older than this land.

Find me

Beneath the plastic boats

In the cold salt water

A hundred feet under

Find me

in the loud weeping

of tears run dry

The sound of takbeer

of men who have been robbed.

Here is not the eternal ground

and is never meant to be.

I, will be your home

I am your resting place.

Note from the author:

1. This poem was written to raise awareness on the Syrian War refugees. I wrote this a while back. But since another rise of war crime in Aleppo has started, it is good to be shared again.

2. The ‘me’ and ‘I’ in this poem means Jannah (heaven).

3. Let us be reminded of our fortunes and blessings, and keep those who are not as fortunate in our prayers. That’s the least we can do to help, if not make proper donations for them.

4. To raise more awareness on this, share!


Farid Fathurrahman Suhaimi, Johor Bahru.