Merdeka

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