Decent Men The ghosts are nearly dead
Blood has turned to dust.
They still walk among us,
Race-based policies,
The unsheathing of the keris
And quotas
As silent companions.
Brittle beings, they peer sadly
From the ravages of history.
Malaya is now Malaysia
But their righteous hands
remain imprinted on the land.
But their grip is weakening,
On the verge of
slipping back into the soil they love.
Forever lost this time,
their time-seeped uniforms
To be unravelled
into naked atoms,
Eaten by parasitic successors
Trapped by indecency.

Decent men
Who did decent things
To help make a decent country
In the name of love.
This love still walks among us.
Dying. But not dead.

Yet.  ¶ 9:52 AM