The Muruku Murmurations

A smile can either be an expression or a plastered cover up to maintain a presentation. This smile you see Was never mine, It was borrowed From someone else's face; Worn as a mask So you would not see What is hidden Underneath. - SY 13:36H 23rd October 2016 Ante, One Utama

We met Nadia Zahari at 'Verbal Diarrhoea' hosted by Minut Init some time ago. Both Nadia and I love to travel and we decided to collaborate on that topic of interest. Take a peak into our 'Travel Log'. Wonderful wanderlust, The thrill of travelling, Excitement bursting, When I jump on the city bus. Peek into the little nooks, Get lost in quint and quiet crannies, Walk down random alleys, Rewrite generic travel books. Feet splashing is my favourite thing, Take me down to the moat, On that little yellow boat , So I can sing this entire spring. The contours of these foreign floors, Take me on a journey as time ticks, Rich history embedded in these bricks, My imagination dances through these doors. The townsfolk painted the town red, At night they sing their anthems, And dance, and conjured the night phantom, Say, Hail the victorious dead! My pen dotting and pencil sketching, Etching the imagery of scenic beauty, Journals of culture

It is almost the end of the year and there was a lot that has happened since the birth of 'The Muruku Murmurations'. Welcome to a fresh look and feel to the blog like freshly fried muruku right out of the wok. . 'The Muruku Murmurations Issue #1 Zine on display at Zine Canteen hosted by Odd One Out Magazine at Awegallery. Unfortunately the zines were sold out and it was a collective decision not to have any more reprinted. With that said, I will be working on new material and publishing my own zines next year. I am looking at having a special issue for collaborations and guest murmurators if they are interested. Proceeds of the zine sales will be used to fund a new project called, 'Poetic Art Around The World'. 'Poetic Art Around The World' is a collaboration of artwork by random artists from Malaysia and poems inspired by their art work turned into postcards that will be sent to selected people around the world, 15 different countries to be e

Without trust there is no us, without you and I having belief and faith in each other, there is no way to build something that will last almost forever. You are worth every part of me to give, to love and to hold. Can I put my trust in you? Can I close my eyes And still know that you are there, When I take a breath Will I still know that you care. Can I make a stand And have you there beside me, When I reach out my hand Will yours be there to catch me. Can I take a step back And see that you are steady, When I make a leap forward  Will I know that you are ready? Can I believe And trust that you are true, When I stay instead of leave, Will you do the same too? - SY 21:19H 18th October 2016 LRT Universiti

A homage to Kak Lara Hassan Across dreamlands; green belts that stretched throughout the gracious pastures. Golden painted sky on the horizon's canvas and frolicking cotton clouds licked by mortal eyes that were in awe. There in the distance, I saw you. A stranger with words and heart that had silently spoken out loudly to me; you whom had written across the dreamlands: pictures of mysteries; language of hidden poetry. You had written art and left it for me to find them all across the dreamlands – the vast continent of slumber and awake. I knew then that I had to know you now, the one that had crafted the dreamlands; calm and tender soul, a place of truth and humanity secrets could hold. You, across the dreamland, I had dreamt of meeting you. And I want you to know; I am halfway there – bleeding – fingers making sentences to cut the distance, with my words and thoughts, still bleeding. And I want you to know; across the dreamlands I am here. - Jack

My heart has found a home and my home has found a heart, a place for comfort and belonging. A place to comfort and belong. My home is being in your arms, Embraced in warmth, On your chest I will rest Wrapped in your blanket of security. My smile is sculpted by your charm, Humourous jokes that you crafted Etched into my long term memory Conversations that lasts for hours Your thoughts are what I can afford, Your happiness is my reward. My dream is slipping away From consciousness, Fall into a solace of slumber From January till December. Discovering dreamland together, Where you and I will be In each other's comfort, Where our eyes meet with ease. My home is where your heart is, Making my life in sync with yours, In unison to our heart's beat. - Swit Marie 00:51H 25th October 2016 Jalan Pahang

I thought I was good at math before I met you. Now x is no longer an unknown to be found but a mystery unraveling. The circumference of a circle cannot contain all that radiates from this centre. And one plus one now equals infinity. - Amelia

After months of recuperation and losing my definition, time and time again being asked who am I and what I want. This piece would be an expression of my entity, who I am and what want to be. I am a female ball of enthusiasm Soaring and cascading with fanaticism For all things pop cultural and traditional All I want is to be original Not a carbon copy of the girl next door Nor the outline of what was done before Travel down the road less explored A pioneer of innovating things that I adore. I could not be bothered by temporary non-necessities Fallacies, twisted tensions and false realities, What you call fab, To me, is a drag. Show me its worth and substance Then, you have every right to brag  I cannot tolerate air and cotton candy Too sweet without the sour, bitter and salty. Life is not one dimensional with only you to be irrational, For all to fall at your feet and tell you that you deserve this seat. Breath and be your principles, That

Winding We started from examining how thick the thread is. We chose what color we desire. We went on for hours winding to make balls of thread. We also started from saying how excited we were this morning. It mattered what we had for breakfast or if we had breakfast at all. Then we wind another thread, talk about our lives. ‘How’s your boyfriend?’ ‘Are the children eating parya?’ ‘The sky is so blue!’ It is a hopeful day without the promise of rain. ‘I use to keep small cuts of thread in my mouth,’ auntie said. She would spat them at their backyard, after. Her grandmother saves the tiniest length of threads and ties them together. So it is not sayang. We wind to make balls of thread. When the day is about to be over we are winding still. Lest be known, today, our own lives took a rewind. Warping Leave the cotton for the old people to make pillows. Just crack the kapasanglay slowly, carefully or you won't have a nice boat. &q