Here, It Always Rains (Truth And Wisdom Remain) Poem by Orin MSH

As thunder peels the shattered sky
Shaking every leaves in this land of plenty
Petite figures, hug rows and rows of rubber trees
Intent on finishing their task, foregoing comfort and ease
Tapping the barks of life whose milk ensures their livelihood
The smell of warm congee and bean curd, for this they would
Weather the monsoon's inclement moods.
Walk the land with graceful nobility
Walk on its varied terrains
Hold out their hands and taste the rain
Nothing ever is in vain
Not all is dread and pain.

Each drops of rain becomes a spear
On the muscular brown bodies of the fishing men
The land of their mothers never seemed so far
Casting their nets out in the open seas
Brine on their lips, brine on their skin
Under a cruel November sun
As the endless sea and sky merge, becoming one
The bounties of the bottomless ocean
They hauled onto such sea-shanty boat
Whose barnacled planks become their home
(While down below, whales and leviathans roam)
Renewing hope as they struggle to remain afloat
There with the mermaids and sirens and mackerels
They shape their own watery world.

This is the way, this is their fate
The womenfolk patiently awaits
But never idle nor indolent, always moving
Their batik dresses undulate in the wind, the air feels wet
With droplets of rainstorm, the sky loudly breathing
Their deft hands weaving the threads, mending those nets
With so much care as though tending to regal cloth
Up ahead in the fuzzy horizon, tumultuous clouds gather
Thunder peals ricochets through the ancient ether
They fear their men shall have no rest
Their laughter peal as though in protest
That their wares of fermented Pilchards and Gelama fish
Still lie in their baskets, no coins jangling in rusty Milo cans
A solitary Corolla passes their stall, raising the scarlet dust
Raising their hopes and crushing them just as fast.

Under a kind and watchful moon
Their worries turn to relief, the sky momentarily brightens
The land is bathed in the softest light and soon
In the courtyard lined with Gelam tea-trees
Swaying like dancers in the evening breeze,
Lithe children feed their grasshoppers cucumber cuts
In their little bamboo cage they sing and trill
A plaintive song that's loud and shrill.

Cicadas and crickets form an unlikely choir
Soothing the souls of these blithe dwellers
Frangipanis and Jasmine scent the fields
With the fragrance of candor and youth
Wondrous gifts and bounties the forest yields
Dew trickling down drooping leaves, trees shelter
Animals of the night as the river runs through
Kancil mousedeers meander the lonely foot trails
Mosses and lichens grow underneath their dainty hooves.

Hibiscuses greet the men of the sea on their return
Kelulut bees scour for nectar among fire ants
All living precariously off the fat of the land
The fields of praise lie across the Southern Sea
Is a place their cultures go hand in hand
A special place to meet and gently be.

Here, where it always rains
While truth and wisdom remain.

(Orin MSH,2 Oct 2023)