POEMS

IN THE MIDST OF HARDSHIP

Latiff Mohidin

At dawn they returned home

their soaky clothes torn
and approached the stove
their limbs marked by scratches
their legs full of wounds
but on their brows
there was not a sign of despair

The whole day and night just passed

they had to brave the horrendous flood
in the water all the time
between bloated carcasses
and tiny chips of tree barks
desperately looking for their son’s
albino buffalo that was never found

They were born amidst hardship

and grew up without a sigh or a complaint
now they are in the kitchen, making
jokes while rolling their cigarette leaves

Translated by
Salleh Ben Joned

HE HAD SUCH QUIET EYES

Bibsy Soenharjo

He had such quiet eyes

She did not realise
They were two pools of lies
Layered with thinnest ice
To her, those quiet eyes
Were breathing desolate sighs
Imploring her to be nice
And to render him paradise

If only she’d been wise

And had listened to the advice
Never to compromise
With pleasure-seeking guys
She’d be free from ”the hows and whys”

Now here’s a bit of advice

Be sure that nice really means nice
Then you’ll never be losing at dice
Though you may lose your heart once or twice

1968

NATURE
H.D. Carberry

We have neither Summer nor Winter

Neither Autumn nor Spring.
We have instead the days
When the gold sun shines on the lush green
canefields -
Magnificently.
The days when the rain beats like bullets on the roofs
And there is no sound but the swish of water in the
gullies
And trees struggling in the high Jamaica winds.
Also there are the days when leaves fade from off
guango trees

And the reaped canefields lie bare and fallow to the

sun.
But best of all there are the days when the mango
and
the logwood blossom
When the bushes are full of the sound of bees and
the
scent of honey,
When the tall grass sways and shivers to the
slightest
breath of air,
When the buttercups have paved the earth with
yellow
stars
And beauty comes suddenly and the rains have
gone.

ARE YOU STILL PLAYING YOUR FLUTE?

Zurinah Hassan

Are you still playing your flute?

When there is hardly time for our love
I am feeling guilty
To be longing for your song
The melody concealed in the slim hollow of the
bamboo
Uncovered by the breath of an artist
Composed by his fingers
Blown by the wind
To the depth of my heart.

Are you still playing your flute?

In the village so quiet and deserted
Amidst the sick rice field
While here it has become a luxury
To spend time watching the rain
Gazing at the evening rays
Collecting dew drops
Or enjoying the fragrance of flowers.

Are you still playing your flute?

The more it disturbs my conscience
to be thinking of you
in the hazard of you
my younger brothers unemployed and desperate
my people disunited by politics
my friend slaughtered mercilessly
this world is too old and bleeding