Saturday, December 20, 2003
An Ode To Hainan
by Budi (Reminiscing Memories Half a Year Ago...)
Hainan.
Where the children call out your name,
like chords from strings, in strains that come to sonetting.
Decked in blue Hawaii shirts and pretty dresses,
they come to you all warm as covers.
Whose dimpled smiles and freckled cheeks,
tell of a million happy tales.
In a manner I cannot understand,
yet find charming enough to smile at.
Hainan.
Beneath the tangled vines of your crops,
the fertile soil curdles in drops.
She works the field with girlish grace,
like time’s remorseless plough through space.
And on the road your rugged men surge,
with the confident dash of calvary officers.
While we sit by the roadside in straw hats and kinky boots,
indulging in your yam ice cream.
Hainan.
It’s midnight in Xinjing.
I signal to the fireflies with my lighter.
They sieve through the humid air among the stars,
to colour the night all red with passion.
The sickled moon resembles the arc of my dirt-rind changkul,
a changkul I yearn to be one with.
A room mate’s scream now startles me.
Floating nightmares in cascading rivers of dreams.
Hainan.
An island of tropical sunshine and coconut trees.
A million brands of bottled drinks.
Cheap cigarettes and coffee so thick.
Barber shop front brothels and fake jerseys that line the street shops.
Plastic cups as flimsy as the smile on the waitress’ face.
Fried eels that curl up like burnt hair.
Peeing little statues and pop-up ice-cream.
A hogwash of novelties.
Hainan.
Charming Hainan.
Enchanting Hainan.
Exotic Hainan.
My Xinlu Hainan.
I see not fed up, I see not fed up…
Dedicated to the Xinlus…
The Really-really, the Sayang, the Terima and the Kasih.
The Thanks aaahh, the most Handsome guy, the Big gorilla and the
flesh-eating chicken.
The Sluts, the super bitches, the keciks and the kechils.
The Minah rock, the Saap, the McGuyver and the one on steroids.
The Gamblers, the Slaves and the Elites.
And all the others… you know who you are.
Hainan.
Where the children call out your name,
like chords from strings, in strains that come to sonetting.
Decked in blue Hawaii shirts and pretty dresses,
they come to you all warm as covers.
Whose dimpled smiles and freckled cheeks,
tell of a million happy tales.
In a manner I cannot understand,
yet find charming enough to smile at.
Hainan.
Beneath the tangled vines of your crops,
the fertile soil curdles in drops.
She works the field with girlish grace,
like time’s remorseless plough through space.
And on the road your rugged men surge,
with the confident dash of calvary officers.
While we sit by the roadside in straw hats and kinky boots,
indulging in your yam ice cream.
Hainan.
It’s midnight in Xinjing.
I signal to the fireflies with my lighter.
They sieve through the humid air among the stars,
to colour the night all red with passion.
The sickled moon resembles the arc of my dirt-rind changkul,
a changkul I yearn to be one with.
A room mate’s scream now startles me.
Floating nightmares in cascading rivers of dreams.
Hainan.
An island of tropical sunshine and coconut trees.
A million brands of bottled drinks.
Cheap cigarettes and coffee so thick.
Barber shop front brothels and fake jerseys that line the street shops.
Plastic cups as flimsy as the smile on the waitress’ face.
Fried eels that curl up like burnt hair.
Peeing little statues and pop-up ice-cream.
A hogwash of novelties.
Hainan.
Charming Hainan.
Enchanting Hainan.
Exotic Hainan.
My Xinlu Hainan.
I see not fed up, I see not fed up…
Dedicated to the Xinlus…
The Really-really, the Sayang, the Terima and the Kasih.
The Thanks aaahh, the most Handsome guy, the Big gorilla and the
flesh-eating chicken.
The Sluts, the super bitches, the keciks and the kechils.
The Minah rock, the Saap, the McGuyver and the one on steroids.
The Gamblers, the Slaves and the Elites.
And all the others… you know who you are.
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