Nazrul’slyrics ofMor Ghumogore Elo Monohor (In my Sleep, Came the Enchanting One) has been translated from Bengali by Professor Fakrul Alam. Click here to read.
Four of his ownMalay poems have been translated by Isa Kamari. Click here to read.
The Heartless, a Balochi story by AbdulQayum Sarbazi, has been translated by Fazal Baloch. Click here to read.
Dragonfly 2 has been composed and translated from Korean by Ihlwha Choi. Click here to read.
Tagore’s poem, Amra Choli Somukhpane(We Look Forward and March), has been translated from Bengali by Mitali Chakravarty. Clickhere to read.
Pandies Corner
Songs of Freedom: Pink Dreams is an autobiographical narrative by Priyanka, written and compiled by Deeksha Vats. These stories highlight the ongoing struggle against debilitating rigid boundaries drawn by societal norms, with the support from organisations like Shaktishalini and Pandies. Clickhere to read.
Larry S Su, who migrated from a mud cave in Shaanxi province to America, shares his story of the changes he sees during three visits to his home and muses on the gaps he has observed between these two places. Clickhere to read.
Summer, Dune in Zeeland by Piet Mondrain (1872 – 1944)
Time present and time past Are both perhaps present in time future, And time future contained in time past.
‘Burnt Norton’, Four Quartets (1941) by TS Eliot
If we look back in time, we have a better life than that of our ancestors. Though conflicts rage and climate change is a reality that we all dread, it can safely be said, we have progressed beyond the imagination of those who lived a hundred years ago. The fact that some books from the past still reverberate with echoes of what the present holds says much for the outliers or authors who could think out of the box. Despite this complex intermingling of ideas and times, perhaps the world will change more now than before. We do not know anything for sure though experts are always predicting a future that for most of us remains unknown. What we can present is our own estimate of what can be and a definite assertion of what is. Truth as such is a matter of perception. That complicates it further. However, one of the changes that is definitely here to stay is climate change and our changing environment. Given that this is the month that homes World Environment Day, we have a smattering of writings that revolve around nature and also the human spirit that defies age.
We have featured a writer who revels in nature and is an ageless voice that bridges multiple cultures, Ruskin Bond. As he turned ninety-two last month, he published multiple new books. We have an excerpt from one of them, Scenes from the Magic Mountain: Five Seasons in the Mussoorie Hills and Beyond, a brilliant collection of snapshots of his interactions with nature over time — be it frogs, snakes or just trees. Some of the vignettes are humorous and some, as all classics are, thought provoking. Bond puts into words how he chose to work in Landour (a small town in Himalayas) and continued to write from there for sixty years. He talks of the spell the mountains cast on him, “I like to think that I have become a part of this Magic Mountain; that by living here for so long, I can claim a relationship with the trees, wild flowers, even the rocks that are an integral part of this landscape.” The other book excerpt is a contrast to Bond’s, a non-fiction called Burnout Highway by Anmol Diddan. It explores the collective suffering of stress at work where achievements distance humans from nature and a fulfilling life and urges readers to be open to changes.
In keeping with the theme of environment, Bhaskar Parichha has reviewed Stephen Alter’s The Fragrance of Rain: A Brief History of the Monsoon. He tells us: “The Fragrance of Rain is much more than a history of weather. It is a meditation on nature, culture, memory, and belonging… Like the season it celebrates, the book is refreshing, nourishing, and lingering in its impact…” While Rakhi Dalal expresses her delight with Shyam Manohar’s The Cold War of Sadanand Borse, a novella translated from Marathi by Jerry Pinto, Meenakshi Malhotra revels in Giti Chandra’s debut book of poems, Setting Traps for Light.
In translations, Professor Fakrul Alam has captured the flavours of Nazrul’s Bengali lyrics, which also echo of the rainy season or monsoons. Isa Kamari brings to us more of his Malay poems in English and Ihlwha Choi shares a rendering of his Korean poem, ‘Dragonfly 2’, into English. One of Tagore’s poems from Balaka (Flight of the Cranes, 1916) has found its way into this issue after being translated. We also have a touching Balochi story around social gaps from the late Abdul Qayum Sarbazi, brought to us in English by Fazal Baloch.
Hughes has continued sharing his short fables, which are absurd but also, comical! A sensitive story about the natural world mingled with Maori concepts by Keiran Martin seems so much in sync with the oceans while Jeena R Papaadi has woven a strange narrative located in a land that only one man could visit. Plamen Vasilev shares a human-interest story set in Europe and Rabiya Rehman takes us to Lahore in quest of a missing destination! Naramsetti Umamaheswararao’s narrative takes us back to a village that opted for trees, thus enriching the environmental lore in this issue.
We have a real life heart rending story from a young girl in our Pandies Corner, written and related by Deeksha Vats, based on the story told by a victim of familial violations and violence.
Our non-fiction section homes Larry Su’s essay on how his life took him from a rural mud cave in Shaanxi province to the glamour of Chicago. Reflecting on the changes he has experienced on his rare visits to his original homeland, Su muses on the cultural and socio-economic gaps he has observed between the two places. Charudutta Panigrahi – as if in direct opposition — shares similarities between two diverse geographies.
Suzanne Kamata explores a custom which may not be that eco-friendly in her column from Japan. Jun A. Alindogan brings home the impact of climate disasters while dwelling on blessings with his narrative about a narrow escape from the Typhoon Ondoy (2009). While Meredith Stephen writes of sailing to Timor Sea with photographs by Alan Noble, Farouk Gulsara takes us on a cycling adventure around the mountains of Titiwangsa. In another musing, he also explores the idea of good and evil in a sardonic tone while Sai Abhinay Penna dwells on the grandeur and vastness of the universe over his morning jog. Gowher Bhat writes of a man for whom age seems to be just a number as he publishes his debut book at 93! One wonders at the frequency of such occurrences — we have writings about two authors above ninety in the June issue. In contrast, Devraj Singh Kalsi brings in mortal fears while writing of visiting doctors with a soupçon of humour – some of it directed at himself.
Perhaps, laughter is really the best medicine to keep well! Ruskin Bond makes us laugh and writes of nature in a way that touches hearts and makes us forget the contrasting glitzy world, where we suffer stress and burnout. Our environment makes a difference, doesn’t it?
With that we wrap up our June issue. Huge thanks to our fabulous team, especially Sohana Manzoor for her wonderful artwork. To all our contributors, heartfelt thanks — we are because you are. And gratitude to our readers who make it worth our while to write and publish here.
We will next meet you during the monsoon months of South Asia though, near the equator, it rains almost every day and, in the Southern Hemisphere, it will be peak winter!
It is in danger, like a child playing beside a puddle.
“Hey! Hey! Watch out!” I cry out in alarm,
but the dragonfly pays no attention. Perhaps dragonflies have no ears.
hlwha Choi is a South Korean poet. He has published multiple poetry collections, such as Until the Time When Our Love will Flourish, The Color of Time, His Song and The Last Rehearsal.
.
PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL
A piece of white cloth, although clean, does not begin to tell a story. It absorbs whatever that is spilled, wet, becomes damp, then dry. That is thought without rigour, that is feeling without limits, that is life without mindfulness.
And the canting teaches perseverance, and the canting develops decorum, to contain the hot molten wax, focus the flow through a pinhole. The deliberate and gentle movement of the fingers, controlled drawing of patterns, limits that are artistic, sensitivities that are cultured, leaving boundaries, traces of white dried wax.
The cloth is coloured by choice, according to taste and temperament. The resultant pattern is soaked in boiling water. Control and limits melt, leaving behind principled white lines.
Behold and gaze intently. If satisfied, it is dried on the clothesline. If not beautiful yet, it is redrawn— a representation of the worth of a dynamic personality, moulded from both freedom and control, the dance of the canting and molten wax.
MY LOVE
You who are far, do you pine for me? I am near, always.
Silence is the antidote of longing. Distance is the bond of affection. Prayer is the host of love. Gratitude knocks on acceptance.
Mutually, let’s not doubt My Love.
WORDS
Words that are upheld become the Self, that are lettered stab and be stabbed till unspoken.
For a Saint, every word is a trust. The heart of every word is Silence.
FITRAH (Natural Tendency)
Alif Between you and me perhaps is just a page of forgetfulness, so I need not feel arrogant to declare that I have a God while you have not returned to the fitrah.
Ya Your end might be nobler than mine, for you have cried when attesting of Him in the spiritual sphere, while I am still in doubt, gazing at God’s face till now.
Arabic letter Alif and Ya: 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.
Bulang Bidang worn by commonersGetam Budu worn by the learned Isa Kamari wearing the sejantak (Malay headgears). Photo provided by the author
THE KRIS
Heppp!
Hold tight the hilt of faith. Insert the base pin of endeavour into the hollow of destiny. Adorn the ring with carvings of identity. Gild the heart with gold on the transverse base piece. Welcome the strong spirit on the elephant’s trunk. Ensure the side finials are neat, although spiky. Meditate on the rejuvenated fallen tree at the base of intention. Sprinkle spilled rice grains on life’s damascene. Complete the trio pattern with golden showers. Dance in the rhythm of odd waves. Honour loyalty of the blade on the forehead. Make sure the thrust is sharp on target. Once the blade is drawn out, the task must be accomplished. Adorn the self’s sheath with morality. Cleanse the rust of misdeeds with lime. Accompany every move with the fragrance of perfume. Warm up intuition with smoke from the freshness of incense. Slip the calling of the motherland at the waist.
Heppp!
It is unforgivable for the warrior to surrender before the fight. It is not death before its time. Mantras of faith and honour will always be revered, will always be upheld.
Ciiiss! Come, forward!
THE SEJANTAK (Traditional Headgear)
Aduhai, hai, hai, hai!
The head is a guard, the head is a warrior, the head is a seat of kingdom, the head is a treasury of culture, knowledge, and identity. It’s only right to uphold it. It’s only proper to revere it.
Aduhai, hai, hai, hai!
A piece of cloth to block the sun, woven from thread to absorb perspiration, tied in accordance with locality, decorated in accordance with tradition.
Aduhai, hai, hai, hai!
Bulang Bidang is simple in readiness. Bugis Tak Balik walks alone. The Eagle Slices The Sky with might. The Rooster unsheathes its spurs. The Young Admiral conquers the ocean. The Getam Budu is wise and intelligent.
Aduhai, hai, hai, hai!
Although humans are equal, the head determines the fold and pattern of adornment. It elevates the have-nots to the haves, removes the yearns of the haves from the have-nots. The head shines in resplendence, pulsates in the veins.
Aduhai, hai, hai, hai!
The setanjak narrates: The Malay has a place. The Malay has a tradition. He moves forward with confidence, acts with wisdom, the intuitive who and what the self is.
Aduhai, hai, hai, hai! Beta Dendam Tak Sudah (This Never-ending Feud)
IRON
The origin of iron is not iron. Iron comes from the word. The word comes from Hu! Iron remains as iron without forging. The forging begins in fire. The fire melts the hardness of metal. The metal is folded and hit repeatedly, in layers, sieving the pure. It needs the wild rage of fire, knocks upon knocks.
At last, the iron tells its tale in the reveal of the damascene patterns. The blade is dipped into water. Ciiiiiiss! Ciiiiiiss! Ciiiiiiss! Aspirations rise as steam, penetrate seven layers of air.
The origin of iron is not iron. Iron comes from Hu!
Only the expert smith knows how to select the best iron ore. Only the brave smith dares to befriend the fire. Only the knowledgeable smith forms beautiful and beneficial damascene patterns. The inheritance returns to its owner. The knight returns to the other world.
Hu! Hu! Hu! Ciiiiiiss!
THE ROUTE
Given the shortest route that is clear and beautiful, you procrastinate from valley to valley.
Although painful, slowly but surely, I will scrape all meanings of Beauty except for Truth.
Bugis Tak Balik — Malay headgear worn by warriors. 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.
O, incense from rock and root! In the name of God and salutations to the Prophet, I sprinkle you onto the charcoal ember in the incense burner inherited from Elders. Ssseesshh! Ssseesshh! Ssseesshh! Billow across the span of humanity. Sharpen our senses, elevate our spirits, as an adornment of prayers for peace, as an accompaniment of the dead. Send blessings to the world of jinns and humans. The doors of servitude open, the purpose both are created. You are the balm for tormented souls. You welcome the mind into the realm of remembrance. Focus the soul on complete devotion to the One, the only One. Those with vague knowledge only see smoke of superstition, stupefied as rose water is sprinkled.
Ssseesshh! Ssseesshh! Ssseesshh!
O, this servitude is indeed fragrant! O, this worship is indeed mystical and intimate to the One, the Only One. When the kris blade is smouldered by smoke, after washed with lime juice, in the name of God and salutations to the Prophet, the blade is dried and withstands rust, preserving inheritance and the calling. Culture and religion are intertwined, knowledge and understanding of the sacred realm that bless the worlds of jinns and humans. The doors of servitude open, creatures of the One, servants of the only One. O, this servitude is indeed fragrant! O, this worship is indeed mystical and intimate! Ssseesshh! Ssseesshh! Ssseesshh! Allah! Allah! Allah! My Lord!
DEBT
Hey, bestower of pleasure! Hey, the saving hand! I think I have been to hell: My soul is charred by sins, My mind is bombarded by doubt. I have rebelled against Me for fulfilling my desire. I think I have been to heaven: My soul is at peace with gratitude. My mind is still in acceptance. Everything has its place. Everything is measured. I am accepted by Me, mutual and pure. But return my will, return my future, return my entire me to the world and reality, from mere illusion, from every expectation. I want to live. I want to live. I want to live in a bit of doubt, in a pinch of rebellion, to learn by myself, to be in place and measured. Hey, bestower of pleasure! Hey, the saving hand! Let me pay my debt in feelings unsatiated.
THE MOUNTAIN God, smash the mountain in my soul. Obliterate the entire me with your Grace and Love. I could no longer bear the sufferings of alienation.
FIRASAT (Spiritual Intuition)
People nowadays do not know firasat. People nowadays do not use firasat. Purity brought down from Elders— the first intuition without veil, the stirrings and effects of unity of experience: Nature, knowledge, and actions unified, moved by the eye of the soul, nurtured by the discipline of the mind, based on strings of reiterative knowledge, demonstrated by signs from layers of Nature, validated by proofs in actions and breaths. The mind, soul, and spirit moulded in the self and surroundings. Ever since it is compartmentalised by thoughts that distinguish object from subject, dissecting issues to the atom, limiting conclusions and acceptance, denying possibilities and visions, veiling light by separation of knowledge. Is not this world a mirror? Is not this universe a sign? Is not this life a labyrinth? Is not a problem interlinked? Science, philosophy, psychology, history, and religion are only points of view that need to be reunified, that need to be rejuvenated as a whole with stirrings and effects of firasat that will pierce layers of existence, that will open secret doors of the manifest, symbolic, transcendent, and immanent worlds. Are not all that fall from the sky, grow on the surface of the earth, and return to the sky a belief in the unity of everything? So, the dust that floats in the air remembers the moment of attesting of the spirit that is gently blown at the boundaries of seven worlds. "Am I not your Lord?" The Malay testifies in firasat: "Yes, we affirm!"
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.
Six years ago, a few of us got together to bring out the first issue of Borderless Journal. We started as a daily blog and then congealed into a monthly journal offering content that transcends artificial borders to meet with the commonality of felt emotions, celebrating humanity and the Universe. Today as we complete six years of our existence in the clouds, we would like to celebrate with all writers and readers who made our existence a reality. We invite you to savour writings collected over the years that reflect and revel in transcending borders, touching hearts and some even make us laugh while exploring norms.
In this special issue. we can only offer a small sample of writings but you can access many more like these ones at our site…Without further ado, let us harmonise with words. We invite you to lose yourselves in a borderless world in these trying times.
Rebel or ‘Bidrohi’, Nazrul’s signature poem, ‘Bidrohi‘, translated by Professor Fakrul Alam. Click here to read.
Manish Ghatak’s Aagun taader Praan (Fire is their Life) has been translated from Bengali by Indrayudh Sinha. Click here to read.
Tagore’s poem, Tomar Shonkho Dhulay Porey (your conch lies in the dust), has been translated from Bengali by Mitali Chakravarty as ‘The Conch Calls’. Click here to read.
Ihlwha Choi spent some time in Santiniketan and here are poems he wrote in reaction to his observations near the ‘home of R.Tagore’, as he names Santiniketan and the Kobiguru. Click here to read Nandini.
Rituals in the Garden: Marcelo Medone discusses motherhood, aging and loss in this poignant flash fiction from Argentina. Click here to read.
Navigational Error: Luke P.G. Draper explores the impact of pollution with a short compelling narrative. Click here to read.
Henrik’s Journey: Farah Ghuznavi follows a conglomerate of people on board a flight to address issues ranging from Rohingyas to race bias. Click hereto read.
The Magic Staff , a poignant short story about a Rohingya child by Shaheen Akhtar, translated from Bengali by Arifa Ghani Rahman. Click here to read.
A Cat Story : Sohana Manzoor leaves one wondering if the story is about felines or… Clickhere to read.
When West Meets East & Greatness Blooms: Debraj Mookerjee reflects on how syncretism impacts greats like Tagore,Tolstoy, Emerson, Martin Luther King Jr, Gandhi and many more. Click here to read.
The Day Michael Jackson Died: A tribute by Julian Matthews to the great talented star who died amidst ignominy and controversy. Click here to read.
Potable Water Crisis & the Sunderbans: Camellia Biswas, a visitor to Sunderbans during the cyclone Alia, turns environmentalist and writes about the potable water issue faced by locals. Click here to read.
My Love for RK Narayan, Rhys Hughes discusses the novels by ths legendary writer from India. Click here to read.
Travels ofDebendranath Tagore: These are travel narratives by Debendranath Tagore, father of Rabindranath Tagore, translated from Bengali by Somdatta Mandal. Click here to read.
Baraf Pora (Snowfall): This narrative gives a glimpse of Tagore’s first experience of snowfall in Brighton and published in the Tagore family journal, Balak (Children), has been translated by Somdatta Mandal . Clickhere to read.
The Day of Annihilation: An essay on climate change by Kazi Nazrul Islam has been translated from Bengali by Radha Chakravarty. Clickhereto read.
Reminiscences from a Gallery: The Other Ray: Dolly Narang muses on Satyajit Ray’s world beyond films and shares a note by the maestro and an essay on his art by the eminent artist, Paritosh Sen. Click here to read.
The Bauls of Bengal: Aruna Chakravarti writes of wandering minstrels called bauls and the impact they had on Tagore. Click here to read.
Life By the River by Liu Kang (1911-2004)Kampung Life by Lim Tze Peng (1921-2025)Depiction of Kampung or village life in Singapore more than fifty years ago. From Public Domain
THE BENCH
The melodious magpie on the bamboo twig -- the passing breeze welcomed the chirping. Sitting on a dilapidated wooden bench, under the thick canopy of the mango tree, village folks rested in the shade, calming the tremors of troubled hearts. The hardship evident in the sighs, still hopeful of tomorrow’s dreams, drying the sweat of weariness. Honest earnings chased away worries. A pinch on the thigh, a cry of pain. Laughter and jokes were shared merrily, teasing the maiden sitting by the door, smiling sheepishly, welcoming attention. Recollecting a slice of an old tale, fun and camaraderie were reminisced, firm and amicable bonds were fostered. It’s but a memory. It’s but a memory. It’s but a memory. Now alone in a room, gazing at the handphone screen, chatting aimlessly in social media— do we remember and long for the dilapidated bench, crafting old tales, forging firm and amicable bonds? Do we remember and pine for the maiden sitting by the door?
CUSTOMS
Customs are not like banana fritters coated with rice flour, dipped in hot oil, served instantly, crispy and delicious, eaten warm, accompanied by sips from a cup of black coffee. Customs are like rain that falls on the whims of the weather. It’s always there, although infrequent, temperamental and purposeful, sometimes an inconvenience— plans thwarted— but always invigorating and instils a sense of acceptance. If received with gratitude, directed with perseverance, and tempered with wisdom. Life is beautiful with droplets of grace. Life is fertile with the pouring of bounties. Life is prosperous with love bestowed. Customs make the earth supple. Customs make the village noble. Customs make a people well-mannered. Once in a while, relish a crispy banana fritter and sip warm black coffee while it rains cats and dogs. Momentary disruption of plans, the alleys and roads flooded— moments of reflection, moments of appreciation for the day, is inherent in droplets of grace, inherent in the pouring of bounties, inherent in love bestowed. Shifting of time and signs the soil is tilled with purpose. The village gathers and collectively agrees, the people ready to realise aspirations of good character and respected stature.
SMOKE
Like smoke billowing amidst rubbish, he burns his self-worth, dances in the flames, when the fire is meant to warm breakfast and meals to school. Now like smoke, his children are floating, begging for favours at tips of cigarettes and cars’ exhaust pipes, crushed by confusion in the stifling air. Who would be hungry if the smoke does not billow in the kitchen, and for generations, our humanity returns uncooked to God?
CURSE OF A WARRIOR
Hail the snake and its venom! Call it a callous and rebellious act! Shame be endured, head decapitated! Surrender not, carry the corpse! Foolish is the mind, desperate are the moves. Let death fulfil the curses. Let death be executed by the Angel. Destroy my body, take my soul. The wooden club hit the coffin. Pierce my tongue and neck. Stab my chest, guts dis-embowelled. Blood spurts, life departs. The warrior kisses the earth. Blood turns into pus. Pus turns into ambers of Hell. Let me die so you die. Let us die so everyone dies. I give you my sin, my hurt, my sadness. You’ll bathe in blood.
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.
Women wearing baju kurongs and men wearing kain sampings. From Public Domain
OIL LAMPS
We did not taste chicken unless it was Hari Raya. Mats laid on the corridor floor in front of ten doors— the barrack houses at the end of Ramadan decorated by oil lamps at each corner. The gloomy village turned bright. Each family brought out trays of varieties of dishes and cakes, the feast welcoming Shawal. The call of prayer from the radio, followed by the hymns to glorify God. Life in the village was indeed harmonious, although sprinkled with misunderstandings, slighted feelings throughout the year. Exchanging delicious food, extending congratulatory wishes, laughter and tears flowed unimpeded. The young proceeded to the field, ignited the fuse of bamboo cannons stuffed with carbide powder fodder. The new moon was welcomed by blasts, claps, and cheers of happiness. Flames of oil lamps swayed in the breeze, resplendent till the morning, before going to the mosque in groups, wearing the baju kurung and kain samping.
THE BENCH
The melodious magpie on the bamboo twig, the passing breeze welcomed the chirping. Sitting on a dilapidated wooden bench, the thick canopy of the mango tree, village folks rested in the shade, calming the tremors of troubled hearts. The hardship evident in the sighs, still hopeful of tomorrow’s dreams, drying the sweat of weariness. Honest earnings chased away worries. A pinch on the thigh, a cry of pain, laughter and jokes were shared merrily, teasing the maiden sitting by the door, smiling sheepishly, welcoming attention. Recollecting a slice of an old tale, fun and camaraderie were reminisced, firm and amicable bonds were fostered. It’s but a memory. It’s but a memory. It’s but a memory. Now alone in a room, gazing at the handphone screen, chatting aimlessly in social media— do we remember and long for the dilapidated bench, crafting old tales, forging firm and amicable bonds? Do we remember and pine for the maiden sitting by the door?
CUSTOMS
Customs are not like banana fritters coated with rice flour, dipped in hot oil, served instantly, crispy and delicious, eaten warm, accompanied by sips from a cup of black coffee. Customs are like rain that falls according to the weather. It’s always there, although infrequent, temperamental and purposeful, sometimes an inconvenience— plans thwarted— but always invigorating and instils a sense of acceptance. If received with gratitude, directed with perseverance, and tempered with wisdom, life is beautiful with droplets of grace, life is fertile with the pouring of bounties, life is prosperous with love bestowed. Customs make the earth supple. Customs make the village noble. Customs make a people well-mannered. Once in a while, relish a crispy banana fritter and sip warm black coffee while it rains cats and dogs. Momentary disruption of plans, the alleys and roads flooded— a moment of reflection, a moment of appreciation of the day, inherent in droplets of grace, inherent in the pouring of bounties, inherent in love bestowed. Shifting of time and signs so the soil is tilled with purpose, so the village gathers and collectively agrees, the people ready to realise aspirations of good character and respected stature.
SIN
Sin is the earth, Sin is the water, Sin is the air, Sin is the fire, moved by a rebellious heart, whispered by a vile intention. Yes, Sin is the arrogance. Yes, Sin is the pawn of power. Yes, Sin is shamelessness. Sin is a human, who is given a will without limits, without pity, who wants to be the reigning deity, who wants to be the undeterred devil: also, a human who chooses to want darkness, wants to cheat, gorge, and be satiated: the snake slithering in dark crevices, the scorpion hiding in an undetected nest, the leech waiting for prey in wetlands. But Sin is the smelly compost that cultivates, the cracked mirror that reflects form, despondent valleys that look up to the summit, tumultuous sea flowing from the openness of estuaries. If the earth, water, air, and fire are cleansed by seven skies, seven rivers, and seven blossoms, moved by a modest heart, whispered by a sincere intention, Yes, the Sin will change to Repentance. Yes, the Sin will change to Obedience. The Sin will become Blissful and Fragrant. Humanity.
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.
It has been a strange year for all of us. Amidst the chaos, bloodshed and climate disasters, Borderless Journal seems to be finding a footing in an orphaned world, connecting with writers who transcend borders and readers who delight in a universe knit with the variety and vibrancy of humanity. Like colours of a rainbow, the differences harmonise into an aubade, dawning a world with the most endearing of human traits, hope.
A short round up of this year starts with another new area of focus — a section with writings on environment and climate. Also, we are delighted to add we now host writers from more than forty countries. In October, we were surprised to see Borderless Journal listed on Duotrope and we have had a number of republications with acknowledgement — the last request was signed off this week for a republication of Ihlwha Choi’s poem in an anthology by Hatchette US. We have had many republications with due acknowledgment in India, Bangladesh, Pakistan and UK too among other places. Our team has been active too not just with words and art but also with more publications from Borderless. Rhys Hughes, who had a play performed to a full house in Wales recently, brought out a whole book of his photo-poems from Borderless. Bhaskar Parichha has started an initiative towards another new anthology from our content — Odia poets translated by Snehaprava Das. We are privileged to have all of you — contributors and readers — on board. And now, we invite you to savour some of our fare published in Borderless from January 2025 to December 2025. These are pieces that embody the spirit of a world beyond borders…
I Am Not My Mother: Gigi Baldovino Gosnell gives a story of child abuse set in Philippines where the victim towers with resilience. Click here to read.
Persona: Sohana Manzoor wanders into a glamorous world of expats. Click here to read.
In American Wife, Suzanne Kamata gives a short story set set in the Obon festival in Japan. Click here to read.
Sandy Cannot Write: Devraj Singh Kalsi takes us into the world of advertising and glamour. Click here to read.
Reminiscences from a Gallery: The Other Ray: Dolly Narang muses on Satyajit Ray’s world beyond films and shares a note by the maestro and an essay on his art by the eminent artist, Paritosh Sen. Click here to read.
A discussion of Jaladhar Sen’s The Travels of a Sadhu in the Himalayas, translated from Bengali by Somdatta Mandal, with an online interview with the translator. Click here to read.
