The best MAP Cup yet, and I'm honoured to be a finalist. Despite being a runner up to The Mighty Jah-J a.k.a George Wielgus, it was for me a high point in my young spoken word career coz the finals lined up with both of us joined by George's flame, Mooza. Both who've just returned from the UK just recently after a long stint of slamming there. And George is the reigning Glastonbury Slam Champ. So there's no shame in losing to him, although the pain couldn't be any more stinging knowing I lost by 1 point. After 0.5 points were deducted. OUCH.
Below is the triplet I used, with the finale poem being a late selection after some strategising, swapped with the second poem. FYI, this is my most rushed slam yet, the rough version of the 1st piece finished at 6:30pm the same day, and the second piece finished at around 8:45pm the same day, right after the first two slammers went up. Talk about leaving it late. Oh well, inspiration comes from desperation, they say.
So without further a due, enjoy. The first & the second pieces were slightly edited prior to posting.
Round 1: MOTORCYLE DIARIES
You know he's one of them when his hair is dyed and Brylcreeam-ed to spike
And the only thing he dreams about is balik sekolah and his own motorbike
Don't bother with the fact that he's not old enough for a license and still wants to ride
Fact is he's been riding since 13 and is running errands for his dad on the side
youth on the slide
fallen by the wayside long ago in a black night
where he didn't want to run but couldn't hide
but had to do so coz buying those cigarettes is his only way for a joyride
while his father makes a woman out of his sister
and makes a martyr out of his mother
while he writes another chapter
in his motorcycle diaries
a chapter full of adventure and colour
yellow lights red lights traffic lights
all of them are another shade green to his eyesight
a shade that says you can make it - right - if you just don't stop
a shade that says if you go faster faster you will be on top
and that life is a never ending race
and your ride is your only saving grace
and if he can run that red then he can run for the state
or fly to the states come back an engineering graduate
but the only office he has is the 24 hour mamak
the only time he flew was when he did the Superman
and the only certificate he has is his Grade 3 SPM
but all that didn’t matter
coz he’s already got what he needs
he’s got his brothers
he doesn’t need to run for the state coz he runs its streets
in the dead of the night when the wakil rakyats are fast asleep
and the city is at its darkest heat
him in his green Kawasaki KRR 150 and black leather jacket
no ties, not shirts, no bush jackets
no need for nonsense titles and deeds
no PHD, no doctorate, no IR, no degree, no need
he’s won all of them with his preng-ing speed
scourge of the roads, the boogeyman of late night drivers
king of the streets
king the day he left school and embraced the cold city night beat
the day he felt he belonged
when his brothers gave him a sticker with his helmet
and put the keys to his freedom in his hands
so much more than the state and the society and the government
and the schools and the ustaz and his father ever can
beer cans, one night stands
coz they don’t understand
what its like to live in 2-room flats
where his belief of the institution called family
fades away in the smoke
as his old man sits at home all day long puffing & watching TV
and yells at the wife from the living room for more money
then blames her for not taking care of their 4 kids and not working hard enough to earn a living
while she's hurting
her back straddling
number 4 doing
the laundry and cooking
and he's thinking
“I will never be king
but I will be no tyrant capitalist
there’s got to be something better this
no way I’ll suffer only to
be a statistic of the dasar ekonomi baru
ape yang dasar?
ape yang baru?
Kita berlapar, diorang pakai baju baru
Kita beristighfar, diorang nyanyi lagu
Kita baca suratkhabar, diorang baca buku
Kita kena ikhtiar, diorang beli sekutu
Kita bersabar, diorang buat tak tahu
Kita terbiar, diorang tak amik tahu
Cuma mahu rumah tinggi-tinggi
Dalam hutan batu
Berjuta-juta beribu-ribu
setiap satu
Ini bukan Negara engkau sorang, beb
Ini pun Negara aku!
Ini pun Negara aku!
Ini Negaraku!
Tanah Tumpahnya Darahku
Rakyat hidup, bersatu dan maju…”
You know he's one of them when his hair is dyed and Brylcreeam-ed to spike
And the only thing he ever thinks about is beer cans and bohsias and his own motorbike
But you never knew him, or his family, the pain he could never udnerstand in his story
All you know is that you see him everywhere
And you never look him in the eye coz he’ll stare
At traffic lights, at junctions, at the roads in late night
Speeding and chasing the break lights
Into the twilight
Out of sight
Chuckling in delight as another pair of 17 year old tits
hugs him tight - Another young knight headed for life’s exits
As he helms on, revs up and remps it.
Round 2: Untitled #2
Recently, this country has been rocked by the controversy
of an unimaginable travesty that has attacked our society
directed unquestionably at the core of our future and humanity
The dumping of newborn babies.
This unwanted headline of inexplicable hate crime heads a long line
of social declines that outlines the dark signs that appears over a timeline
as a result of the relentless greed and grandest designs of those are inclined
to not keep in mind the effects of modernization that affects future generations
and attacks through psychological incisions that slices through the core of family institutions
and breaks the traditions of a human civilization that has survived through dozens and dozens
of genocidal conflicts like The Holocaust and the Apartheid by sheer will and the ethics
of being a human.
So who then, changed the tune and made it seem that you can wrap the rag then
cold-heartedly dump your baby?
Who?
Wait.
Before you answer the question, ponder this
Were you shocked when heard about this?
Did you cry or scream or puke and lose your self-worth and esteem
In the theme of typical societal reactions?
Were you really surprised?
Were we really surprised?
This silence is deafening
And is the least bit comforting
To know that our attention span
has become a by-product of consumerism, miseducation and
spiky teeny bopper music from Korea and Japan
and that human lives are just a number
that some fat specky analysts crunched up over supper
So brothers, are we brothers?
So sisters, are we sisters?
Are we parents, fathers, mothers?
Are we?
Or are we just called brothers, sisters, fathers, mothers?
All these babies are the victims of an education that elaborates of the definitions
And the understanding of the action for the sake of examination and graduation
But not the emotion that drives the vision of love, marriage and the beauty of procreation
The problems lies in the complexity of understanding our sexuality exacerbated by the inability
Of expressing directly as a legacy of our Asian hereditary coz you see we
Don’t need to learn sex but instead sexuality
We don’t need to learn about push and pull that comes to us naturally
We need to understand how we grow and mature sexually not grow up a mature sexily
Because the problem isn’t about rubber and foreplay but about sexuality and moral decay
And added with the dysfunctionality of the new economic policy
that’s renewed every five years ever since the early seventies
hocus pocus hoaxes pokes us deep in our pockets through the wallets they sold us
“let’s do it sayang, let’s do it cannot bang kita takda duit…”
“just do it jalang just do it aku kasi engkau duit!”
This imbalance of weakth and economy between the kampung and the city
is a blatantly unspoken tragedy of the cluelessly complacent civil service
who failed to serve us civilly when we all know what that is
and when coupled with the business
driven by lust and sexists
our kids who couldn’t get this
put on their sister’s lipsticks and hipsters
for boyfriends, ministers
and blooms
into a woman in the gloom
of a cheap hotel room
carrying time bombs in their wombs
of naïve sixteen year olds
clad in tubes too old for them
and perfumes
too bold for them
too young to love
but young enough to give birth
to the one thing that mother earth
did not mean for her babies to be
The butcher of their own babies.
Final Round: SHE SAID “I CAN LIVE WITH A BROKEN HEART”
She said "I can live with a broken heart
Let me live with a broken heart
because I have been living with a broken heart"
And I didn't know what to say.
Should I just keep quiet or should I say
"Let me take you for dinner and make your day"
Or - "It could be Allah working in His mysterious ways..."
Or - Just be patient, give her time
she wouldn't understand it now yet anyway..."
Or - "Just let it be, it'll be fine..."
but try as I may
no matter what I wanted to say
it all sounded so
cliche.
And that made me hate myself.
At that exact moment I hated the very existence
that divinity has graced and blessed upon upon my soul
because I didn't know what to say.
I wish I could've said something
But there was no way I could've said something meaningful
something enlightening
something right, beautiful and comforting
because there is no way my young eyes and my young heart
would've seen more pain
more love, joy and blood-soaked rain
than her wedding necklace, grandmother's ring
and coarse hands have gained.
And I call myself a man.
Unashamedly.
In front of this woman who has fathered children
me, someone who has fathered only his manhood
unashamedly
calls himself a man.
And in the heat of the moment
where this beautiful woman has dropped her guard
and offered me a glimpse into her hard
yet vulnerable and fragile soul
and opened the window to her past of decades old
sharing her innermost feelings that moves her through the days
like tectonic plates
I celebrate
the opportunity and grabbed it whole
with my manly arms, like I found gold,
in celebration of the moment where I bring out the depth of manliness and masculinity
and paternal potentiality in it's promise and glory
confident like how a man should
thinking of the things he should
know, remember, understand, say
like how all those books and movies about man try to sell everyday
and I unashamedly say
"Okay."
A most manfull and masculine "Okay."
When instead, I could've said
Something else
Something that would take away the pain of having a heart broken
because women are creatures who were born to love
and before they learn to love themselves they learn how to love others first
and before we men learned how to love women and how to make love and make women love
ourselves and themselves they taught us love
and the reason why it is them, not us is because
they understand that the purpose of their beautiful existence is the most exalted cause
which is the gift of bringing life into this world
even though this beauty is marked by scars
and no matter how much these scars haunt them
hurt them, scare them devastate and disappoint them
they wil not falter
because even the heavens surrender bowing to pay heed
and lie beneath their feet
because they are women.
And in the milisecond
that all this flashed by I
Cry joy and victory in revelation and mockery
retaliating to the man that I was just moments before
And in my new found manliness I roared
"Please, please don't say that, isn't that a wish
A prayer that should not be
because Allah forbade us to wish for something that he
dislikes for He only likes peace, understanding, love and harmony?"
And she said,
"I can live with a broken heart
let me live with a broken heart
because I've been living with a broken heart
when I broke a piece of it in '72 for the man that I loved
and then another one in '73 to make up your sister's heart
after that in '76 for your brother's warmth
and then in '81 for your words and your charm
and then again in '85 for your sister's laugh.
So I can live with a broken heart
because I have been living with a broken heart
And I beg you, please let me live with a broken heart
just let this be, just let me be
because I know exactly
where the pieces are."
