ABDILLAH SM : POETRY - FREEDOM

freedom

given the space
fly my dragonfly
given the time
without anguish
waiting shy
flap your wings
towards the sky
sprited with
my love
and
cry

dramatic
moment
departure
:::
drifting away
teribble
capture

ABDILLAH SM - SHORT STORY - ( an extract ) MY BELOVED

........... As soon as l reached home that night l rushed to the fridge. l took three fresh oranges and started peeling them. Carefully slicing the juicy, while separating the seeds away l began transferring it nicely into the mixer. Adding some ice cubes and honey syrup, l started the machine. Mmmmm, nice smell and beautiful to look at. Salivary me.

‘don't you want some, darling?’, l asked while turning to look behind me. You are dreaming! As if someone is faithful enough. Hehehe. l was laughing at myself. Really, l was laughing. Believe me. l was still laughing long after that. Why don't l stop this?, l shouted at myself. Tears started to fall on my hands. Hey! What’s this?, l asked myself, still laughingly. It surprised me to realize that l was eventually crying my heart out. That l was keeping the pain and the sorrow while l walked myself home for five kilometers, in the darkness of the wet monsoon night. A feeling of serious rejection was there. O, that why l was so sad. The rejection. Ya, the sadness. Only then l began to feel the freezing and the heating effects of a real disappointment crawling mischievously in my chest. It was just starting to squeeze my heart.

That’s how sad l was. Extreme sadness, it really was. It effected me silently; unknowingly disabling the instinct to differentiate laughter and weeping. .................

( an extract from a short story, ‘My Beloved’, Abdillah SM – 1996 )

ABDILLAH SM : POETRY - LAND OF GRIEF

land of grief

(medan duka)

the moon fractures

across crimson heavenly skies

star glittering brightly

celebrate in the land of grief

night’s desolation and isolation

dwell in spiritual stability

the world is full of angst,

melancholic voices humming from the ruins

holy verses beckoning far into the distance

but joy splinters and drops

onto this tortured land

- one memorial park

at dawn

screams erupt

splitting open skies

desecrating bedroom calm

and earth starts shaking,

a disaster, and yet through all these

a mother smiles

ABDILLAH SM : POETRY - MAHA JIWA

maha jiwa

i

burden of physic

neglects the wandering soul

dizziness with no alert

trapped about

the wheel of life.

ii

lust fidgeted body

layers of masks

covering humiliation

being spruced but

wild ruthless fool;

contradicting

desire in pure search

intrinsic stream

field of meaning.

iii

meditation even dream

the soul sneaks

to batter obstructions

escaping a green bayan

cracking prisons of

ammara

lawwama

mulhama

mutma’inna

racing the speed light

flapping wings to submit

lulling the longing soul

reconciling the desire

peak of lust.

iv

alas, the restless soul

prayers key to the heart

my recitation

adulating

thanking.

holy wandering

leaving physical burden

dunya shahawat hawa

adventuring eminent nostalgia

penetrating prisons of

mutma’inna

radiyya

mardiyya

layers of possibilities

collecting granules grace

tracking the sweet reality

saffiya

the pure self

embracing

maha jiwa

love

eternity.

2/1/2009

ABDILLAH SM : POETRY - THE RICE FIELD

the rice field

(for Adnan Zaki Bunyamin)

i have a strong desire

walking in watery field

where padi grows in fertile

leaves supple in the breeze

swaying and waving the spirit

of the malay

walking through the era

revolution of the race.

rice pounded from padi

is our prime food

vapour of fragrant rice

odourously comfortable to touch

with a lump of nipah salt

rubbing on the melting

engkabang oil

slides the mixture with

beautiful dreams of independence

battering the barriers

fortunes, politic and

economy.

for generations

we enjoy product of the field

ripening padi

of granny’s locality

keeping her name within

my longing mind

ironically as

nostalgia peaked height

the buffaloes vanished to tractor

the fields broadened by hectares

reality of a rice field disappeared in

the eye of heart

where upon my cousin

sketched a history

heir of nation’s granny

stepped on the moon.

1/1/2009

glossary

padi

nipah

engkabang

from the original in bahasa melayu

entitled: sawah dan bulan by Abdillah SM

translated by Abdillah SM

ABDILLAH SM : PHOTOGRAPHY - SNAP OF THE DAY 30/12/08

CONGRATULATIONS

ADNAN

PMR 2008

* marching band
* news

ABDILLAH SM - SHORT STORY - PLACEBO

PLACEBO
By Abdillah SM

The flash of nur throbs very softly yet persistent in my brain – regenerates the memories. That’s it. Moment of basirah I had just experienced was apparently true and had been to me perfectly unveiled. True. I was confused for the first time about the warning shadow of death. Syukran. Ana mawujud!

Thanks God. Isn’t a fate until it happens. That I will accept with submission, leaving behind all materialistic; me into the realm of barzah. It wasn’t as I imagined but a fatal experience. Fate thus His knowledge, I am a helpless creature who gotten very minimal understanding to construct a suggestion. Yet now I am beginning to breathe. Receiving again the grace with submission; the blessing of the Almighty, The Creator.

So, what is the meaning of soul, life and might? I turned my head to the left, feeling confused and tiresome but kept on thinking. The doctor who was in my attendance had once whispered to me, whether was he joking while referring about soul showed me his comical expression; all that you have just asked, he said to me, to my opinion is merely a terminology: Energy! He he he he. He laughed out but hiding his pearly white and perfectly profiled teeth. Repugnant was the diagnosis meant I must die within the stipulated time they thought might, based on the experience and the study of man.

Nay! Since the postponement, without hesitation I must grip this opportunity in order to expect challenges in life, in search of signs and knowledge that must I pick. Utilizing the span extension that has His approval. Feeling frozen, with wandering thoughts overflowed I was at a moment being inspired with an advice which sounded like a warning: Read! Read in the name of your God the Most Creative!

That very moment I started to shake and move. Trying it very hard. Dragging away the weary feet to bring about my weakened physic. Syukran! Very carefully, in my mind I ran search for the starting premise that is right and fair so as not to waste even fraction of a second the process of the spiritual disposition. A span extension is fated to me but the articles and clauses unknown. Syukur, ya Allah! Thank you, Allah! Thank you, Allah!

Now, as I touched my head, stretching my neck and brushing my hair with my fingers I realized the heaviness inside – my brain. Dear me! This is the brain. It is a gift from Ilahi. It was invaluable to me. An organ that I had ever witnessed through imaging procedure which was tried on me. Ah! There would be someone asking why the soul which is as mighty a gift seemed me to avoid the understanding. Like it is not as sincere to legitimize my thanks to Ilahi? Forgive, mercy! Forgive, mercy!

I must value all the gifts from Ilahi. But, I had always been reminded the subject soul is totally His knowledge, I am only a simple creature just beginning to wonder. Only recently I tried to relate the question as to whether there is any effect that soul ever existed, in my memory, the brain or elsewhere in my body. And more over, the brain to me alike a black box, safety device in an airplane which records flight statistics. I was that something, I thought – a flying machine about to perform a dramatic yet historical flight into barzah. Oh my!

I believed every statistical information about me is well stored in my memory, the brain. That is it. Anything – that covers moment to moment of my being until a destruction happened; alike the incident that I was about to believe - was my death. But, never was the recording started when I was just conceived. This one I was told. Such functional could have begun in a very distant time before the realization. The dawn of time might had been it. Before the conception of me in the loving womb of my mother. Yes, might had been that. My being in the metaphysical realm. That’s it! Always present in its own very name, virtual and real – Abdullah!

The truth I must have assuredly accepted the challenge to be realized into the physical – the reality. With a nod and a lafadz. To be a matter – a material. With one’s own submission. Be materialized. So, have I gone through most challenges in this earthy life of mine with mind – the brain supplying thoughts and inspirations to keep up with my existence – purposing to my physical survival. Keeping the amanah a handful. I too always trust as I have been made to trust – every living thing will experience death. A transition that will bring me back to the central. Syukran!

I could understand, the brain contains memories is a faculty of testimony and evident. The information it stores can never be manipulated or even erased, but recorded in the left and the right of the brain. I started to calculate the relevance and the understanding about angels; Atid and Raqid. Atid is supposed to record all the good deeds while Raqid’s the evils. The brain is so destructible just as other organs are. So, till I am extinguished the physical will eventually rot and soon be absorbed into the earth. Curiously me! Where gone the realities of my memories and all the facts ever being stored in the faculty brain?

Syukran! I love You, Allah!

Please accept my love and affection.

I am, your powerless and helpless creature.

And I could be just like a plant,

Alike bacteria,

That could only live in particular environment,

Or could only be anywhere

As long as You permit this life.

Amin!

Waiting restlessly but searching for possibilities, I picked sudden emergence of a notion – the voice and the where about it. The audio, that’s it! The audio! Where had the voices which were produced during my uttering and prayers accumulated? And the visual? Yes, the visual! My appearance? Had it ever been recorded by any virtual lenses. Alike the lenses of cameras. Do they exist? I knew of the present technological advancement is in fact an inspiration. As a result of human intelligence that studies and learns the world surrounds them. Then, it is not comical to suggest there might have been virtual lens hiding somewhere since time immemorial – the lens of the universe. It was my joke always, anyway. Ah! Sure enough it had recorded my existence; audio-visual-aroma. Why the aroma? Had we a camera that captures aroma?

I have known that my heart is a biological pump, endeavouringly bringing the oxygen to the brain so will it help the grey matter to breathe and throb. Now, because of the prosperity of my brain that generates anew my enthusiasm, living again seems to be a kind of new beauty and excitements in its fullness compared to yesterdays.

Thank you, Ya Allah. Thank you, Allah. Terima kasih, Allah. Amin! Amin! Amin! While tracing softly my beard that has becoming more grey, I noticed my chest being attacked with virtual bullets. Yes, they are bullets in my chest. It’s painful, but no pain. Ibuuuuuuuuu. I was crying. Tears ran down my cheeks warm and salty. It’s not the pain that I struggled and lamenting. My mother. I haven’t seen her for so many years. A decade? Two? No! I can’t recall. I think its three plus decades. Reflecting you mum is pain and no pain. Both is happiness to me.

No pain but, it’s painful. Eventually so, emerging slowly in my mind the meaning of love and hatred within the pain and no pain sensations. Speechlessly now. I am being inspired by the feeling of a faraway existence in my inner self, the feeling of another pain within pain with and without fear. Mum, happiness being with you in the reflection.

Sprouting now in my mind various moods of imaginations that is extremely exciting to me since I have forgotten them all the while before. Now, there too is this inspiration – my interest about the surroundings – fresh, fragrance, sparkle and gleam, at certain particular corners gloomy, sad, nostalgic; memories and lust that suddenly stir the restlessness wellspring – central of my orgasm.

It is morning. I gazed attentively appreciating the surrounding which is very calm yet hazy. A beautiful morning. I perceived the objects and their existence but was so muted to name them one by one. Only I fully understood between me and the objects I shared a link – an empathy. I was as talking in the silence. The silence is indeed charming. The empathy that had linked me rushed inherently, as being uploaded to a certain network. Might was it a type of telecommunication – no! It isn’t. It’s telepathic. The source is beginning to supply voltage of normal frequency so my mind is now reading – Ouch! Burned and perished.

No!

Syukran, syukran, syukran. That all are safe. Intact. Syukran! There’s just a kind of fuse been installed.

Assalamualaikum,Ya Rabulalamin.

Assalamulaikum, Ya Rabbi.

Assalamualaikum, Ya Ilahi.

Ana Abdullah.

Ana Abdillah.

Ana Abdallah.

Ana mawujud.

Mawujud, mawujud.

Syukran!

Syukran!

Syukran!

Thank you, Allah!

Thank you, Ilahi, Rabbi!

Amin!

Amin!

Amin!

Translated by

Abdillah SM