Go Home
Go home, he said, with a glint in his eye,
and a bat in his hand, begging me to disagree
so he could take a swing, and by hitting me
dissolve all his problems.
Go back to your country, he hissed,
with the weight of his words hanging
in the air like a wall between us
and it was painful to think that
But for the shape of my eyes
and the scars on his hands,
we are the same, marked by
the same stamps and regulations-
We are both, for better or worse,
Malaysian and we both sing
everyday the pledge to die for
king and country and in our own
Perverse ways, we mean everything we
say, and that is not a lie.
Stop, I wanted to whisper but the scent of his
hate choked my reply.
Step by step, foot in front of another,
I said to him, YOU ARE MY BROTHER,
This country is as much mine as thine,
This land of plenty is too my mother.
He faltered, hand wavering,
I back up, slow stammering,
and we fall slowly to the ground
crying for this land of our birth!
Forever connected by virtue of birth,
cemented by shared blood spilled,
Language, work of laborious love,
Motherland, we have arrived.
Go home, he whispered weakly-
meaning, intent of hate leached
from the words, I forgive him,
with a hand on his forehead.
Listen, listen, listen,
We all came on separate ships,
but we are on the same boat now,
cut us, and we bleed the same red blood.
What difference was there between
a grandfather who was fisherman
and one who was civil servant?
Cut them and they would have bled
the same blood.
What difference is there between
a Muslim and a Hindu, a Christian and
a Sikh?
A Buddhist, a Jain, a Jew?
Cut them and they will bleed
the same blood.
What difference, I say, is there
between rich and poor,
Cut them and they will bleed
the same blood.
What hate hath drive us apart,
Take it and cast it aside,
Listen to me,
and swallow thine pride.
Listen because I am as much
of a child of this state
as you are,
Listen because I love this country
as much as you do
And listen because I cannot go home-
these words I sing to the man on the
ground, his red shirt hitched up to
his ribs.
I cannot go home if this is my home,
and though we go back to different houses,
though we speak differently,
and talk differently,
our thoughts and dreams and fears
are the same.
Do not pay heed to demagogues,
who fear our unity and take hammer to
friendship, and pierce loving hearts
with arrows of hate!
You tell me, become Malaysian-
How can I become something I already am?
How could I not be, open up my beating
heart and see, for yourself,
how could I possibly be anyone else?
Go home, go home, go home-
to where?
How to get somewhere if you
are already there.
and a bat in his hand, begging me to disagree
so he could take a swing, and by hitting me
dissolve all his problems.
Go back to your country, he hissed,
with the weight of his words hanging
in the air like a wall between us
and it was painful to think that
But for the shape of my eyes
and the scars on his hands,
we are the same, marked by
the same stamps and regulations-
We are both, for better or worse,
Malaysian and we both sing
everyday the pledge to die for
king and country and in our own
Perverse ways, we mean everything we
say, and that is not a lie.
Stop, I wanted to whisper but the scent of his
hate choked my reply.
Step by step, foot in front of another,
I said to him, YOU ARE MY BROTHER,
This country is as much mine as thine,
This land of plenty is too my mother.
He faltered, hand wavering,
I back up, slow stammering,
and we fall slowly to the ground
crying for this land of our birth!
Forever connected by virtue of birth,
cemented by shared blood spilled,
Language, work of laborious love,
Motherland, we have arrived.
Go home, he whispered weakly-
meaning, intent of hate leached
from the words, I forgive him,
with a hand on his forehead.
Listen, listen, listen,
We all came on separate ships,
but we are on the same boat now,
cut us, and we bleed the same red blood.
What difference was there between
a grandfather who was fisherman
and one who was civil servant?
Cut them and they would have bled
the same blood.
What difference is there between
a Muslim and a Hindu, a Christian and
a Sikh?
A Buddhist, a Jain, a Jew?
Cut them and they will bleed
the same blood.
What difference, I say, is there
between rich and poor,
Cut them and they will bleed
the same blood.
What hate hath drive us apart,
Take it and cast it aside,
Listen to me,
and swallow thine pride.
Listen because I am as much
of a child of this state
as you are,
Listen because I love this country
as much as you do
And listen because I cannot go home-
these words I sing to the man on the
ground, his red shirt hitched up to
his ribs.
I cannot go home if this is my home,
and though we go back to different houses,
though we speak differently,
and talk differently,
our thoughts and dreams and fears
are the same.
Do not pay heed to demagogues,
who fear our unity and take hammer to
friendship, and pierce loving hearts
with arrows of hate!
You tell me, become Malaysian-
How can I become something I already am?
How could I not be, open up my beating
heart and see, for yourself,
how could I possibly be anyone else?
Go home, go home, go home-
to where?
How to get somewhere if you
are already there.
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