Happy, happy, joy, joy

" I didn't see it coming. I hoped for it but thought that there was no way that it is ever going to happen.

Then it did. I wasn't prepared for it. I mean, I am happy that it happened and happy that it happened the way it did. It came as a greater (welcome) surprise. I had the expected reaction....My heart raced fast, limited by my rib cage or I'm sure it would have strained to free itself from the flesh that holds it in. My fingers were cold as a dead carcass, head was swimming with a thousand and one questions.

But I lived for the moment and absolutely LOVED it. What's next, boy? I think I am ready for it so come on, make haste!!"

Petal P. Rose

Bedside tramp

she comes to him during his days
him to her, the dark
illuminated by the bedside lamp
they entwine in a breach
of trust that wasn't there to begin with
a glimpse of disillusionment
she allows, indulgent
to her wants, needs neglected
preferring the dark
when he comes to her
illuminated by the bedside lamp
locked in a tight embrace
of reality and insanity
tempestuous affair rocking
their lives together yet apart
cocooned in their virtual net
she feels undisturbed,
him smoothening her furrows
when he comes to her, borrowed,
illuminated by the bedside lamp

Petal P. Rose

A posting from a 30 year old.

So, I turn 3-0 in the next couple of minutes (and by the time I am done with this, I AM 3-0 [shit! shit! shit!!]). I look at myself in the mirror, looking hard for visible effects of the big uh oh. Nothing that I haven't seen, noticed or been pointed out to before.

But:
1. skin now becomes problematic - more oily and pimple prone.
2. it also lacks it's youthful glow
3. not so smooth anymore
4. I have panda eyes
5. eyes seem more discerning (but that could be just me squinting)
6. let's not talk about the other parts of the body.....

The change I most feel is inside. Like the blind who longed for sight, I now am the seeing who longs for the dark. I see so many things that just makes my heart bleed. How ungrateful humans are - I'm not talking just about the ones in general but those who are close to me. It's appalling at how selfish and uncaring these people whom I hold dear are. They are no different from the enemy.

More and more, I realise how like she I am. She, who would sacrifice her every single cent, give her clothes off her back and work her fingers to the bone for her love of those around her. She, who would bend double for her sons, going so far as shielding her daughter from the wretched knife. She has lead a hard life from the get-go. It's something I hear from her often to remind us of her humble beginnings. I've seen how she goes without. She. who is taken for granted by the chauvinistic pig, cast aside by the pig's pride. Even so, she chides me when I utter bad words after the pig. Her way is gentle and humble - I am unworthy standing beside her. Whenever I grouse about things, I stop short remembering her.

My heart bleeds for him when he struggles so hard to break the chains that bind him. I can feel the disappointment reflected in his eyes yet he is too big a boy to weep. 'Take it like a man', a phrase oft quoted but really, is anyone too grown up to weep in disappointment, despair and anger? I can almost hear the unspoken "why?" and the gut-wrenching sadness that sets in after. He didn't do anything wrong, as far as I can see. Yet he is treated like an outcast, callously forgotten in the display. Discarded for now - a liability.

I don't know how people who make others miserable pray or look at themselves in the mirror every single day or be able to sleep without fear of being killed. I know I'm not in the wrong but yet, I am ashamed to face the wrong-doer. I don't know how to be gentle and humble (yet) like her and look into those eyes and forgive. I don't think I ever can. Himself can go to the grave knowing that he was never forgiven.

I am not rich and I have given up the idea that I will ever be (but doesn't stop me from trying). I have accepted that I will be following in her footsteps - just a harder, no-nonsense and streetsmarter version of her. I would love to give her the big house, the money to throw but I don't know if I would be able to in her lifetime. But in her lifetime I know, I will try my earnest best to give the best that I can afford to be it materialistically or otherwise.

So when most would celebrate their 3-0 with a big party, my heart is heavy with sorrow for all these things and more unmentioned. Happy birthday, Petal.

'bagaikan padi yang tunduk
lagi berisi lagilah rendah
murnilah namanya
insan yang di gelar emak"

Petal P. Rose

Enmeshed purple, red, blue

I wonder why the need for speed
is it wind in the hair or desire to bleed
hastening your arrival, meet the Maker
estimated time, past tea, early supper

what would you say then to your Maker
"how do you do? time for dinner?"
I do imagine He may say - "not for you - your arrival undue,
see, I only had the table set for two"

with that rejection, he faces away
heart is laden with dismay
distant beeps and soft murmurs
took him out of deep, dark slumber

"wha...who..." his first words said
his eyes saw needles, pain in his head
no ‘get well soon’ or cheerful flowers
he wanted to feel just like the others

a darting pain, an aching heart
he spiralled into deafening silence
his only company, dejection
he sucked in the air thick with disappointment

in his nightmares
he would pummel the air -
"all the rosaries that i prayed, hours of mass,
didn't it count - how can you let it all pass?!

resentment of decades
hopes unpaid
while in the shadows waiting in glee,
the infamous red cloak wants to end this melee

"come my poppet, sit with me"
applying balm to soothe his knees
but behind his cloak, hidden dagger
with one swift flick, it is all over.

it wasn't for the thrill of wind in the hair
that he made the pact at the villain's lair
more because he was shouldering hurt
of rebuff from love he once covert

Petal P. Rose

Turning 3-0 (and counting...)

Looking through my fingers
My eyes are squeezed shut

Fast approaching
uh-oh
‘round the corner
big three-oh

Not too tight
Careful the crow feet
cos

Fast approaching
uh-oh
‘round the corner
big three-oh

Things don't sit well no more
I'm not talking about just clothes,
nah-uh

Fast approaching
uh-oh
‘round the corner
big three-oh

Can't slam them brakes
Shit! I'm careening out of control
oh no!

Can't stop, will crash
uh-oh
'round the cornder
big three-oh


Petal P. Rose

Apple Peel

Oh your thin skin
I peel you back. expose
some parts
brown and bruised indicative
of a journey
same like mine but different
the more i uncover
delight fills my eyes and the
heart congested with emotions
stomach all twisted
i am undecided
it's just skin, uncovered

maybe i shouldn't have.
put it back
tuck it in the edges
better the unknown than this
raw and tender i see
its networks and inner workings
i stare, can't tear these eyes away
recalling the times when it
was perfect
skin, so thin.
right before I peeled you back.

Petal P. Rose

An Affair

My love affair started as young as when I was about 3 or 4. Oh, love affair with words, that is. My parents used to read me all the time back then. Already the cracks appeared but I was too young to understand. Anyway.....

My parents are not highly educated but they somehow knew the power of words and doggedly read me every night till I was old enough to do it for myself. I had books from the likes Brothers Grimm and Hans. Simple stories like Puss In Boots and the Gingerbreadman. I remember being so annoyed with the pig in the Gingerbreadman. He was so greedy!! Also being a Muslim then, it was drilled into our heads that pigs are the worst things on earth. Armed with this bias, I got very annoyed at how the pig was chasing after the gingerbreadman and finally got a chunk of him (I think). I wanted the Gingerbreadman to be whole and uneaten, undefiled. The page that showed the pig - I crushed and even tore it out. I was that upset! I think I was a bit more than annoyed, you think? I wish now that I had kept the book but I threw it out along with my childhood.

It didn't matter to me that we didn't have money to buy me new books every now and then. The few I had, I read from cover to cover, over and over. I joined the public library service and they had mobile libraries that I used to go to. Yep, I am a mobile library kid. I fell in love with the princesses of 1001 Arabian Nights with its handsome princes and running along with Laura, Mary and Carrie, I lived in the Indian Territory, feeding and caring for Pet and Patty.

I fell in love with the voluptuous sounds of "o", and "teen" sounded mean; it was only much later that I know how it was like being a teen and why it sounded mean. The sound "tarp" makes, music to my ears, like raindrops falling on attap roofs.

These words swirl in my head, floating and greeting each other as they go past. That's how sentences are made. Sometimes it comes out garbled but it's all sorted by the time it hits the funnel that is the mouth. That is why I love to write - I think I'd go mad if I don't. All these words, in my head, filling it up and clogging it. Writing - a cathartic release. A quiet time for me and me alone.

Petal P. Rose