Friday, August 20, 2010

Pouring A Hot Steamng Mug Of Coffee Into Another In Mid Air To Cool It To Beat Imsak

An eye on the clock,
An ear on its tick-tock,
Just over a minute
Before the call from the minaret
Signals the imsak onset;
The Davidoff coffee
Is still steaming hot ...
What to do?
Throw in ice cubes?
Changes the flavor;
Stand it in cold water?
Fret the seconds away,
Tempting a rising pulse,
An idea none too clever;
Do the tarik!
Pour the coffee
From mug to mug,
Hung in mid air,
Pulled afar,
Brought close,
Like playing an accordion,
Do it again, Sudin!
Like docking spaceships,
Easy does it now, no slips,
Balancing gravity,
With surface tension,
Getting right the rapidity
And rhythmic precision,
So as not to cause spillage,
Tarnishing the Davidoff homage,
Spoiling the imsak heritage.

The above verse is based on this message I posted at FaceBook:

While keeping an anxious eye on the ticker and ear on its tick-tick-tick, balancing between gravity and H2O molecular attraction by transferring the liquid from one mug to another separated by a foot of sky without spilling precious any, with the purpose of bringing down its heat to a level acceptable by the tongue, is... a better stratagem of achieving its purpose by virtue of being able to calm down a rising pulse by having something to do while waiting THAN standing the hot mug in cold water and just staring at the darn thing, indeed a stratagem worthy of a field marshal's, no less the foot-soldier's, battle lexicon, in the holy war against a ragged and unruly crowd of pangs, pains and pines rising from the trenches of our still developing soul population ... just some putar belit dari Kerling ... ROTFL ...

Friday, August 06, 2010

Where the Fakawi

Where the Fakawi?
On the edge of the Kalahari;
What dey do dere?
Dey looking for deer,
Dey looking for hare,

Dey caught any?
Yes,they caught many

but dey got lost
And plaintive cry,
Where the Fakawi ...
Where the Fakawi ...

Who the Fakawi

Who the Fakawi?
Cried the lost tribes of Galilee,
There were twelve at the start,
Ten were left when two lost heart,
Four got bogged in loose terrain
And were never seen again;
Of the six remaining,
Four showed lack of training,
And the trek their energy draining,
The last two, one headed east,
The other headed west,
One ceased to exist,
Leaving the twelfth the best
Fakawi among themselves.