Look at that old empty stadium,
where they once gathered and
watched with excitement,
as a tired warrior raised his
right
hand into the air, and shouted
merdeka! Which spread across
an entire nation like a
thunderstorm during monsoon
but felt like silk to those
who waited for so long, sick
of laboring for the white man’s
cause.
Who could blame them for wanting
what was rightfully theirs?
446 years we’ve waited,
they would yell in the streets,
with tears of glory rushing down
their face.
They’ve been through hell, but
their persistence in adversity
inspired heroes, who marched
to the throne to tell the white
man
enough is enough. They have
gone now, to make way for you,
the proud man, who sits
cross-legged
and declares out loud:
“We’re brilliant! We achieved it
all without bloodshed!” Yet you’re
a fool to think merdeka would
last forever, and not someday
be a lose rock on a cliff
you’re so desperately clinging on
to.
By then they’ll be scolding you
for being so proud of something
you did nothing to achieve.
But for now enjoy merdeka while it
lasts, as you’ve been free for
55 years now, which is 5 more
than
you teach your children to count
to
before shipping them off to
school,
where you expect them to
become brilliant by learning
to fill in the blanks with the
nonsense you stuff in their
heads.
But you have no time for caring,
do you?
You’re too busy fighting
yourself in frantic courtrooms
and busy streets, and
Lining the tar roads with yellow
shirts,
expecting that to make a change.
But change is drumming
over the horizon and lest
you hold on tight, you will fall
down to the earth,
and the whole world
will watch the proud man, clawing
at his ancestor’s grave, begging
for merdeka again
while the fire burns him away.
by Arsyad Azrai
Inspired by "Postcards to Columbus" by Sherman Alexis
