His spirit yet dances

through the crowd. There,

in graffiti refusing grey concrete.

There, in the demonstrator’s eye.

There, in the slogan splitting hearts.

There, in the minister’s tweaked nose.

 

Sang Kancil datang,

Anjing raja ditendang.

Slip bars, scurry from snares, sprint

fine and unseen. No net or cage contains

a trickster of his kind

for very long. His hoofprints

persist to puncture dignities,

remind them

they too are of this dust.

 

Sang Kancil datang,

Anjing raja ditendang.

 

While tigers rage at his laugh

in the twilight, harried and hunted,

good Kancil remains

unafraid, knowing

even a mousedeer has fangs

and a kick for every king’s cur.

 

Sang Kancil datang,

Anjing raja ditendang.

 

 

© 2022 May Chong