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The Lost Mantras

Nature and Isa Kamari

Poetry and translations from Malay by Isa Kamari

From Public Domain 
CRACKED MIRROR

God, 
I am the cracked mirror 
who tries to capture Your Light.

Every moment, 
as I gather to piece Your Face, 
I see my maimed life, 
wounded by wild dreams, 
scarred by foul experiences.

Would You even look at Your shadow 
scathed by my protesting soul 
and slashes of transgression, 
the rebellious worship of a servant?

SNAIL

I look at the snail and ask myself, 
would I be able to stop 
the river of time with my heart?

For failure is the raging currents 
that erode the banks of faith.

I look at the snail that struggles in the rain; 
I’m ashamed of my neglect of God’s grace.

I look at the snail that slips and is washed away; 
I become tearful in the drizzle that slices my heart.

I remember the snail and learn to be generous.

THE OCEAN

To know a human being is akin to loving the ocean. 
It’s inadequate to just have fun at the beach, 
to welcome its waves of thoughts. 
It’s not enough to scavenge at the beach, 
assessing the debris it leaves behind.

To know a human being is akin to revering the ocean. 
It isn’t fair to envision at the beach, 
to measure its expanse and depth.

Its lonesome rumble invites us to be divers, 
ready to face its currents of struggles, 
so that we could penetrate its castle of corals 
that has long separated the bedrock of goodness from the surface— 
the true character of a human being— 
so that we would discover the beautiful pearls of friendship.

To know a human being is akin to embracing the ocean. 
It’s impolite to just stand by the beach.

THE SEAL

The seal is a sign, 
a note to validate the self, 
the carved imprints of representation. 
The wax is the official voice, the mark of law.

The seal is a signifier— 
there is no double-talk, 
no bargains or compromise, 
no forked tongue. It stands firm in position.

The seal is of significance— 
words cannot be retracted, 
the decision delivered to the recipient, 
reward or judgment passed, the door of destiny.

Opening the pages of an ancient book— 
the bridge of hair split into seven strands. 
Is the wax fragrant or vile? 
A river of milk flows at one end, 
an abyss of raging fire at the other. 
What seal is stamped on the chest: 
Dwellers of heaven or hell?

Everything has been ordained, 
written on the leaves of the Lote Tree*.

*Lote Tree is a cedar that marks the entrance to heaven
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

It’s but a Memory… More Poems by Isa Kamari

Poetry and translations from Malay by Isa Kamari

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.

[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