(10.03.2005 on visiting Nanking, China.)

Revisiting Nanking

It was in the winter of Two-0-0-Five,

A day when the fields were covered with pristine snow,

The last snow of the winter attempting to hide

The horrors of the past sixty-eight years ago,

That I came back to mourn the loss

Of my parents and siblings, whose bones are now bared

To innocent eyes among hundreds in the glass house

That is part of the Nanking Massacre Memorial Centre.

I was eight when the men in khaki uniforms and helmets

Came to our ancient city, with fixed bayonets

In their bloodied hands and faces with blood-shot eyes.

My mother only had time to hide me in the well at the back of the house,

Just before my father and brother were led away,

Leaving my mother and elder sister in the house.

Then I heard the terrible cries and pleadings.

The anguished voices of my mother trying to protect my sister

From the brutish advances of men whose laughter

Reflected their naked power over the innocent victims of war.

I could not see what happened to my mother and sister.

Whatever it was, it must have been something very terrible,

Only heaven could hear their cries for help,

But not these men, who were deaf and blinded

By their victorious aggression of my country.

Men who acted as if they had no mothers,

And sisters, nor fathers or brothers.

Then their sudden loud cries were muted.

That was the last I heard from my mother and sister.

When the men in khaki left, and quiet reigned,

I climbed up from the well and went into the house,

There to see the bodies of my mother and sister,

Naked and desecrated beyond description.

There was no sign of my father and brother,

Not even after these sixty-eight years.

I escaped, and through so many summers and winters,

I still cannot understand why my family was treated like animals,

To be slaughtered by humans who by their action

Were themselves animals, without thought or emotion.

What men were these who worshipped an emperor god,

Who allowed his followers to maim, rape and kill in his name?

Was this the bushido spirit of bravery and sacrifice,

Raping innocent women, killing them and their children?

Were these the actions of men in praise of their emperor-god?

These questions will always be asked but never answered.

Nanking is a memory that will not go away, a memory

Of such atrocities that will be repeated by powerful nations,

Without any conscience of human decency.

It can only go away, perhaps with the loss of human civilizations.

-       Khoo Soo Hay

I Need A Mountain Spring

I need to find a mountain spring

That man has never seen or touch,

That only deer come to drink

And birds and squirrels can vouch.

To have it bordered by plants

And small pools for peacock fish

To swim and play stunts,

Reflecting its scaly rainbow flash.

And by its side monkey cups abound

Collecting dewy drops of rain

The agile monkey’s lifeline bond

That is part of the mountain terrain.

I need a mountain spring

Unspoiled by human hands,

Its pure water, unwashed, unringed

Left to wash only its bottom sands.

I need a mountain refreshed

By the sweet songs of birds calling

For their mates to build their nest

Amidst butterflies fleeting.

I do not need artificial springs

That sound un-operatic

Infiltrate our private space, bring

To our ear, music chaotic.

I do not need a concrete jungle

Where hills and mountains vanished.

No trees and branches tangle

But cement, plastic and steel finish.

Give me a mountain spring

Pure and unsullied to dream

Before the rising of the sun

And lay down before the moonbeam.

That is my last wish for myself

And for others who love this earth,

That come what may, the shelf

Of life, this earth will continue to have hope and rebirth.

                                                                                  

                                     

Khoo Soo Hay  07.02.2014 Pg. Municipal Youth Park.