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The Lost Mantras

A Song of the Wind & Other Poems by Isa Kamari

Flowers of Binjai
Binja or White Mango
From Public Domain 
A SONG OF THE WIND 

I surrender my body and soul 
to smoke, steam, and mist, 
which I gather with one last fibre of strength. 
Listen to this lonesome song, 
for the sun is envious of my existence.
This life yearns for separation; 
frailty is only human. 
Ballads after ballads you would know. 
An honest young man is always chided for his age. 
The unending love of parents 
sometimes makes them act as dictators.
If you feel life as silkworms 
dreaming of freedom, 
just remember your wings have broken 
the moment you willingly accept 
the smoothness of silk.
If the clouds are too heavy 
for the roof of your home, 
call the wind, summon the earth. 
Then you would taste the sweetness of charity.
But remember, 
a barren land sometimes is best left barren, 
for art also seeks justice. 
Proclaim, but do not claim, 
for your worth is still in a balance.
As life is a bountiful gift, 
be discreet in giving alms, 
but you must be brave to challenge, 
although it means 
you have to burn a piece of love letter.
For God is closer than your jugular vein.
I come to you from a dusty journey 
where I gather smiles from smoke, steam, and mist. 
Listen to this lonesome song for a while, 
for I am envious of the ensuing dusk.

MOTHER

Oh, Allah, 
I know of your Love 
from the binjai which she craved for— 
a slice from the only fruit plucked by a neighbour.
I know of your Mercy 
from the warmth of the womb that protects a soul, 
a frail presence in want of a mouthful of rice mixed 
with soy sauce and fried fish, 
under the thick foliage of the tree of Time, 
offering shade to the unfolding age.
The moment she left to meet You, 
the tree of Hope fell; 
the kingdom of the Hereafter shook in my soul. 
Parting will ultimately lead to meeting again.
Only to You I surrender, 
begging for your love for Mother— 
a straight path tracing her footsteps; 
asking for your mercy for Mother— 
which overrides your wrath over my life astray; 
seeking your gentle affection, 
as warm as Mother’s fingers.

TWEET

The chirping has escaped the cage. 
The chirping is free; the trap is empty. 
The chirping is returned and received. 
The chirping is delirious on the rotten branch.
Your tail searches for the nest, 
Your claws clench the twigs, 
Your wings sift the wind, 
Your beak catches the worm, 
Your eyes survey the rainbow.
Hey you, the bird which has escaped! 
Hey you, the bird which is free! 
You bring along the cage in your flight. 
The trap awaits your return.
If your tail is not guided by faith, 
If your claws are not holding on to good deeds, 
If your wings are not spreading grace, 
If your beak is not chirping gratitude, 
If your eyes are not seeking redemption— 
Your song is a caged cry, 
Your tweet is a prisoned anguish. 
The resplendent feathers that you show off 
are hiding a sadness as wide as the sky.

THE TRAIN

The door will close.
If religion is the track, 
it does not determine 
the path and destination for commuters. 
They board and alight at different stations, 
not the one, not the only one, not the same always.
Religion is like a map; 
it does not make life boring, 
does not block a journey, 
shows the path anywhere you go, 
not the one, not the only one, not the same always.
We are not carriages 
that do not have choices. 
Just make sure the meandering path is fun and secure, 
the last stop safe and peaceful.
The door will close. 
The One awaits there, 
wherever it is.
The inside of a binjai mango. From Public Domain

Isa Kamari has written 12 novels, 3 collections of poetry, a collection of short stories, a book of essays on Singapore Malay poetry, a collection of theatre scripts and lyrics of 3 music albums, all in Malay. His novels have been translated into English, Turkish, Urdu, Arabic, Indonesian, Jawi, Russian, French, Spanish, Korean, Azerbaijan and Mandarin. Several of his essays and selected poems have been translated into English. Isa was conferred the S.E.A Write Award from Thailand (2006), the Singapore Cultural Medallion (2007), the Anugerah Tun Seri Lanang (2009) from the Singapore Malay Language Council, and the Mastera Literary Award (2018) from Brunei Darussalam.

He obtained a BArch (Hons) from the National University of Singapore in 1989, an MPhil (Malay Letters) from Universiti Kebangsaan Malaysia in 2008 and is currently pursuing a PhD programme at the Academy of Islamic Studies, Univeristi Malaya. His area of research is on the problem of alienation and the practice of firasat (spiritual intuition) in selected Singapore Malay novels.

The Lost Mantras is a collection that blends spirituality, Malay cultural heritage, and universal human experience. First published as part of Menyap Cinta (Love Greetings, 2022, Nuha Books KL), these poems are like a bridge between mysticism and everyday life, where traditional images (betel, jasmine, kris[1], oil lamps, setanjak[2]) are woven with Qur’anic echoes, prayers, and existential questioning. The collection carries a Sufi resonance—always circling back to longing, humility, surrender, and beauty as signs of God. The poems are not only lyrical but also function as cultural memory: they preserve Malay traditions, communal practices, and village life, while situating them in a cosmic framework of faith, sin, and redemption. The use of Malay customs, rituals, and objects is powerful: it asserts that spirituality is not abstract but embedded in heritage. This makes the collection uniquely Southeast Asian despite its universal in appeal.

[1]A dagger

[2] Malay headgear

PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL

Click here to access the Borderless anthology, Monalisa No Longer Smiles

Click here to access Monalisa No Longer Smiles on Kindle Amazon International

Categories
The Lost Mantras

More Poems by Isa Kamari

Poetry and translation from Malay by Isa Kamari

DAWN

Hey, the morning breaks! 
Hey, the faithful sun! 
Hey, the disappearing dew! 
Hey, the layered air!
The breath desires, 
the soul asks: 
Who do you greet?
Have you pondered, sons of Adam? 
Death awaits, life prolongs. 
Have you realised, progenies of Eve? 
The earth is impregnated and layered by purpose.
The one that you welcome is the morning, 
The one that you coax is the sun, 
The one that you touch gently is the dew, 
The one that you breathe is the air.
The gift of death, 
life fulfilled, 
accompanies the inevitable: 
morning, sun, dew, and air.
A breath dissipates, a soul obliterates. 
Nothingness. Gone.
Hey!

THE FIELD

The green grass is a mother’s heart, 
the velvet of love for her children.
Although stepped upon by mischief and transgression, 
she distils dews of hope 
that her children would grow with the sun.
The earth is the preparation of a father: 
soil and compost for his children 
where character would be rooted. 
Barren or fertile, 
he digs into his responsibility and self-worth, 
as long as the rain nourishes his age.
Grass flowers are the children 
who only know the joy of the wind 
for as long as their dreams 
have not landed on earth 
and kissed the grass.

MOLTEN EARTH 

This moment, 
we’re walking in the rain, 
accompanied by a bluish rainbow 
and red birds with purple blood. 
If they’re heading towards the dais, 
we have yet to embrace the longing.
When the moon is in tears, 
it’s just ill-suited for us to sail 
on the orange henna sea.
In truth, 
we verily love the eagle 
that flies in the desolate morning. 
If not for ravens like you, 
our forest would be infested with rabbits. 
Give us white wings; 
we want to fly with blue birds 
that return to reciprocate love.
We want to taste milk. 
Is it for us only urine, 
the manifestation of love by dogs?
Sound your prayer call in our shacks 
so that our tears 
are not just to bear 
the pain and bitterness 
of a plate of rice.
If your pensiveness is just to reminisce 
the sufferings of night longing for day, 
our tears have flowed 
from the earth’s molten belly, 
which are stepped upon 
by saints like you and them 
who have cast curses 
upon us wretched souls.

POTPOURRI 

The screw pine thrives on damp soil, 
next to the swampy pond. 
It spreads its green in the wild; 
roots clench the earth we tread upon.
The jasmine grows on the lawn, 
marks the boundaries of property. 
Sturdy branches, leaves flourish; 
petals open, greet the clouds.
The sliced screw pine in a receptacle, 
the jasmine blossoms spread on the tray, 
perfume sprinkled to enhance the scent: 
the potpourri of bunga rampai welcomes guests.
The ceremony officiated by the qadi, 
the couple duly married, 
customs and culture celebrated in fragrance, 
religious laws honoured on the dais.
The shaving of the baby’s head, 
first steps on the soil, 
the coffin carried to the grave— 
the potpourri of bunga rampai 
adorns every domain, 
binding firmly entire life’s moments.
Bunga rampai — fresh flower potpourri used in Malay festivities and funerals. From Public Domain.

Isa Kamari has written 12 novels, 3 collections of poetry, a collection of short stories, a book of essays on Singapore Malay poetry, a collection of theatre scripts and lyrics of 3 music albums, all in Malay. His novels have been translated into English, Turkish, Urdu, Arabic, Indonesian, Jawi, Russian, French, Spanish, Korean, Azerbaijan and Mandarin. Several of his essays and selected poems have been translated into English. Isa was conferred the S.E.A Write Award from Thailand (2006), the Singapore Cultural Medallion (2007), the Anugerah Tun Seri Lanang (2009) from the Singapore Malay Language Council, and the Mastera Literary Award (2018) from Brunei Darussalam.

He obtained a BArch (Hons) from the National University of Singapore in 1989, an MPhil (Malay Letters) from Universiti Kebangsaan Malaysia in 2008 and is currently pursuing a PhD programme at the Academy of Islamic Studies, Univeristi Malaya. His area of research is on the problem of alienation and the practice of firasat (spiritual intuition) in selected Singapore Malay novels.

The Lost Mantras is a collection that blends spirituality, Malay cultural heritage, and universal human experience. First published as part of Menyap Cinta (Love Greetings, 2022, Nuha Books KL), these poems are like a bridge between mysticism and everyday life, where traditional images (betel, jasmine, kris[1], oil lamps, setanjak[2]) are woven with Qur’anic echoes, prayers, and existential questioning. The collection carries a Sufi resonance—always circling back to longing, humility, surrender, and beauty as signs of God. The poems are not only lyrical but also function as cultural memory: they preserve Malay traditions, communal practices, and village life, while situating them in a cosmic framework of faith, sin, and redemption. The use of Malay customs, rituals, and objects is powerful: it asserts that spirituality is not abstract but embedded in heritage. This makes the collection uniquely Southeast Asian despite its universal in appeal.

[1]A dagger

[2] Malay headgear

PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL

Click here to access the Borderless anthology, Monalisa No Longer Smiles

Click here to access Monalisa No Longer Smiles on Kindle Amazon International

Categories
The Lost Mantras

Poems by Isa Kamari

Poetry and translation from Malay by Isa Kamari

THE KING

I bow to you, King.
I bear the torment of your sadness 
in the embrace of my sleep.
May it transform into glad tidings 
for the days of your people.
This exploration is to find your throne, 
which has disappeared from our hearts. 
For my love to you, King.

JASMINES

Earth jasmines, sky jasmines,
a string of jasmines encircles the heart,
jasmines poured with water from the hills, 
jasmines sprinkled by a pinch of compost.
Seven rivers, seven clouds—
rain pelts onto forlorn petals.
Beauty is in the form, 
beauty to the eyes, 
beauty is the hand that tends to the soil, 
beauty is the fingers that caress the leaves, 
beauty is the cut on the arms of the gardener.
The scorching sun, 
the shade from the foliage,
bountiful is the soul of the tree that delivers, 
witness to a life devoted to hard work, 
with the laws of nature as the axis.
Strong roots clench the earth, 
shoots look up high to the sky. 
Stand firmly, the soul sings. 
Blossoms waft fragrant dreams.
Earth jasmines, sky jasmines, 
bloom in the early morning.
Say your prayers, 
introduce yourself.

BETEL LEAVES 

To be at the top 
is to function at the bottom, 
upholding responsibilities and trust, 
strengthening shared roots. 
The fragile branches are free to stretch, 
the green leaves spread wide. 
Wild betel, untouched betel, 
covers the soil, climbs the trellis.
To be at the peak 
in essence is to grow shoots, 
carrying fertile hopes and dreams, 
giving way and space to grow, 
to climb each posting energetically, 
to qualify for the position when seasons change. 
Lofty betels, heavenly betels, 
reach for the stars, greet the clouds.
To be in the ceremonial receptacle 
in essence is to uphold tradition, 
surrendering to the preservation of culture. 
Typically chewed with lime, slicing problems, 
mature-red in speech, 
tracing the lives of roots and shoots. 
Wild betel, untouched betel, lofty betel, 
heavenly betel, courtship betel, customary betel, 
weaving values and the essence of leadership 
entrenched in tradition.

HOME

Free souls wouldn’t be easily bored 
by mentoring and demands, 
for it’s the stable self 
that gives rise to liberation.
And that’s called freedom —
it isn't about release without aims, 
just like city folks, 
released from home or work, 
wander aimlessly at shopping malls, 
seek excitement from novelty and transience.
It isn't that Life doesn’t require variety, 
or it isn't that the soul doesn’t long for fun.
It’s just that we who claim to be free 
are easily entrapped in useless pettiness 
that we spread in the city 
without ever realising 
that we haven’t returned to the doors of our hearts, 
although we’ve stepped afoot 
onto the compound of the house.

Isa Kamari : A foremost Malay writer from Singapore: Photo provided by the poet.

Isa Kamari has written 12 novels, 3 collections of poetry, a collection of short stories, a book of essays on Singapore Malay poetry, a collection of theatre scripts and lyrics of 3 music albums, all in Malay. His novels have been translated into English, Turkish, Urdu, Arabic, Indonesian, Jawi, Russian, French, Spanish, Korean, Azerbaijan and Mandarin. Several of his essays and selected poems have been translated into English. Isa was conferred the S.E.A Write Award from Thailand (2006), the Singapore Cultural Medallion (2007), the Anugerah Tun Seri Lanang (2009) from the Singapore Malay Language Council, and the Mastera Literary Award (2018) from Brunei Darussalam.

He obtained a BArch (Hons) from the National University of Singapore in 1989, an MPhil (Malay Letters) from Universiti Kebangsaan Malaysia in 2008 and is currently pursuing a PhD programme at the Academy of Islamic Studies, Univeristi Malaya. His area of research is on the problem of alienation and the practice of firasat (spiritual intuition) in selected Singapore Malay novels.

The Lost Mantras is a collection that blends spirituality, Malay cultural heritage, and universal human experience. First published as part of Menyap Cinta (Love Greetings, 2022, Nuha Books KL), these poems are like a bridge between mysticism and everyday life, where traditional images (betel, jasmine, kris[1], oil lamps, setanjak[2]) are woven with Qur’anic echoes, prayers, and existential questioning. The collection carries a Sufi resonance—always circling back to longing, humility, surrender, and beauty as signs of God. The poems are not only lyrical but also function as cultural memory: they preserve Malay traditions, communal practices, and village life, while situating them in a cosmic framework of faith, sin, and redemption. The use of Malay customs, rituals, and objects is powerful: it asserts that spirituality is not abstract but embedded in heritage. This makes the collection uniquely Southeast Asian while still universal in appeal

[1] A dagger

[2] Malay headgear

PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL

Click here to access the Borderless anthology, Monalisa No Longer Smiles

Click here to access Monalisa No Longer Smiles on Kindle Amazon International

Categories
Slices from Life

Shanghai in Jakarta

By Eshana Sarah Singh

The moment the calendar flips to January, Jakarta undergoes a transformation, almost as if it’s washed anew, like one’s gazing at the city through rose-coloured glasses. Although Chinese New Year normally falls in February, the city wastes no time in dressing itself at its festive best, akin to a newly wed bride right from the beginnings of the year itself. The streets glow with the soft, warm hues of red lanterns swaying gently in the tropical breeze, intricate golden motifs adorning shop windows shaped in Chinese characters signifying good health and luck, ah! and of course the unmistakable notes of celebratory music drifting through the air. For a few short weeks, Jakarta doesn’t just celebrate Chinese New Year—it embodies it.

Growing up in Jakarta, yet hailing from Indian descent, I was always fascinated by how this festival seemed to take over the city, outshining even the likes of Christmas in its grandeur. To an outsider, Jakarta in February might feel more like Shanghai at its prime than the capital of the world’s largest Muslim-majority country, however the fabric of Chinese New Year is woven into the hearts of people across the country.

Photos provided by Eshana Sarah Singh

Jakarta’s shopping malls—already known for their extravagance and avant-garde ambiance —take it up a notch during this season, pull the notch all the way up really. Grand Indonesia, Pacific Place, and Central Park become galleries down the streets of metropolitan Beijing, displays of Chinese artistry adorn the walls, with colossal dragon sculptures wrapping around pillars, cherry blossom trees dotting atriums, and enormous red envelopes symbolising prosperity displayed in elaborate installations. At Pantai Indah Kapuk, a neighbourhood known for its Chinese-Indonesian roots, the neighbourhood where I grew up, restaurants overflow with families indulging in yu sheng (a prosperity toss salad) and steaming platters of shumai (dumplings) wafting their aromas into the air.

Photo provided by Eshana Sarah Singh

In Jakarta’s very own Chinatown, Glodok, the roads are chock-filled with movement, cacophonous and chaotic but so vibrant. Red flags with auspicious messages printed in gold are hawked by vendors, temple incense wafts by getting ever-stronger with murmurs of chanted prayers for prosperity and riches along the roads.

The sound of drums boom so loud that the ribs vibrate, that the very ground trembles beneath one’s feet, proclaiming the onset of the Barong Sai—an ancient lion dance with movements so fluid and gracious that they can’t help but draw eyes passing by. Their beauty, yet further enhanced by the resonant clashing of cymbals, is in theory supposed to ward off evil spirits and usher in prosperity; this tradition infact predates the existence of most civilizations.

Lion Dance. Photo provided by Eshana Sarah Singh

Amidst all this festivity, I am reminded of the countless Chinese New Year’s I’ve spent in school growing up and lessons from my Mandarin teacher, whom we affectionately called Laoshi or teacher.

Tha author and her Chinese teacher. Photo provided by Eshana Sarah Singh

“Laoshi, I remember you used to tell us about all the dos and don’ts of Chinese New Year,” I chuckled, eager to hear her insights once again.

She chuckled. “Ah, yes! There are many, and each family follows different ones, some only specific to them. But some are universal. For example, never sweep the floor on the first day!”

I laughed, “Why is that again?”

“Because you will sweep away all the good luck for the year of course! The same goes for washing your hair—avoid it, or you will wash away your fortune. And of course, you should wear red. It brings happiness and wards off the Nian monster.” It seemed a lot of the superstitions absurdly revolved around washing, but then again they’re superstitions so perhaps logical reasoning wasn’t the best path forward.

“What about food? Are there any specific dishes that must be eaten?” I asked.

“There are actually, eating fish is a must because the word for fish in Mandarin sounds like ‘surplus,’ which is meant to bring in abundance for the coming year. And you can’t forget about tangerines as well, have you ever noticed how they’re only ever sold during the Chinese New Year? Their name sounds like ‘luck’ in Mandarin, so people always exchange them with family and friends. I think by now you can guess why,” Laoshi chuckled.

She paused slightly, her voice wavering and tone turning nostalgic. “You know, in Indonesia, many Chinese-Indonesian families have developed their own unique traditions, which are understandable; traditions are never truly the same in a place that’s not their own.   But this way at least there’s something for everyone. For example, we still hand out angpao, the red envelopes filled with money, but nowadays, some people send them digitally! Would you believe it?”

Wading through the bustling streets of Jakarta in the days leading up to the New Year, the tension, the excitement, the wait was palpable in the air. I noticed how the celebration was not confined to Chinese-Indonesian families alone, it was a time for all of us. Malls showcased extravagant public performances, offices hosted small celebrations, every building was decked out in red from head to toe and even my non-Chinese friends, including me of course, joined in by donning red and sharing greetings of “Xin Nian Kuai Le1.”

Indonesia’s long history with its Chinese diaspora has not always been smooth or friendly for that matter, but in these moments of collective celebration, one realised how some moments were made better when shared with everyone. Chinese New Year in Jakarta is not just a cultural event—it is a national one really.

As traditions evolve, so does the way Jakarta celebrates. Some things remain timeless, temple visits, family reunions, and Barong Sai performances, however that does not mean new customs are not emerging. Metropolitan city dwellers now send digital angpao via apps, families opt for lavish dinners at high-end restaurants instead of a table chock full of home-cooked feasts, and social media becomes a hub for sharing well-wishes and festive experiences, because the wishes of luck and prosperity transcend the miles that separate us. Taking in the sea of red around me, the rhythmic drumbeats, and the air filled with the scent of incense and festive feasts, the very grandeur of Chinese New Year in Jakarta, I know that no matter where life takes me, this festival in this city will always feel like home.

  1. Happy New Year
    ↩︎

Eshana Sarah Singh is a media and journalism student with a passion for storytelling, blending authentic personal experiences with rose coloured lenses to ultimately explore diverse and untold narratives that chart off the beaten path. 

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PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL. 

Click here to access the Borderless anthology, Monalisa No Longer Smiles

Click here to access Monalisa No Longer Smiles on Kindle Amazon International