Kurai Noberusu

I’ve always liked to tell this particular joke: what do you call a legless chicken? Well, you still call it a chicken. If I were to chop off your legs, would you still be yourself? Or would you become an entirely new species without legs? Unfortunately, our ancestors have never had any humour for banter like this to understand the jest’s niceties.   People have been ostracised for being different. What of the women who were knowledgeable with medicinal properties of herbs? Cast them unto stakes and have them burned alive . What of the native Blacks? Brand them and own them as slaves . What of the atheist who doesn’t believe in the divine? Bind him in shackles and have him stoned to death . So you see, people never did appreciate others for being different. Instead, some have feared others for knowing things they did not; some were jealous of others having things they did not; some just wanted to flaunt their “power” and bully others; some were sadistic and needed a pats...

Trump has been portrayed as having made an uncalled for rebuke on an NBC reporter. Most, prejudiced against Trump, were predisposed to agree it was uncalled for. However, these people have only watched the 30-second clip when Trump calls him a terrible reporter. Those who have watched the full video, however, can understand why Trump did as he did because the reporter was much irritable.

Smoking a Poem - Marc Daniel Nair I am constantly on the look-out for poets, chain-rhyming , five-stanza-a-day poets, palming their pencil and notebook in back pockets, lighting up lines with the practised ease of habit. I search for them in sunlit corners of trains, Between shelves of public libraries. I find them pacing and waiting at bus-stops, stubbing out the ends of pencils, flicking ashen words onto paper. There is no mistaking the poet’s scent; to tangle of joy and fear to exhale a word and stub out the idea before the bus draws near. Sometimes I peer over the shoulders of strangers when I see them turn serious and begin to scribble. But often, it’s a list of things to do, groceries, accounts. These everyday words are safe; they give me a rush from breathing in someone else’s simile. Where have all the serial poets gone? Those who only smoke unfiltered; huffing hard packs of dense images that incite the potential to kill or caus...

We tell ourselves each and every day that we need to recycle this and reuse that yet, do we truly lead an eco-friendly lifestyle? We share a common earth. Approximately 220 million years ago, all the world’s continents were but actually one huge landmass which had gradually split up into today’ continents according to geologists. However, even though our continents are no longer physically connected, it does not mean that we, the inhabitants of this earth, cannot be united. We fight for our own lands, be it America, Britain, India or even Singapore. We fight for the greater good of our homes and defend our culture, our people and our environment. We all share a common goal. Earth has provided its lands for us to build our homes; should we not be grateful to Mother Nature and protect and preserve it to the best of our abilities? As people of the same earth, should we not unite for our common cause to protect our world? Yet, instead of working together, we are working against each ot...

In the perpetual night, looms an inflexible darkness, the stench of brandy, linger like the pathos In a peculiar bar, lies a particular man, of whom poured in liquor, in heavy loads A eerie sound resounded the bar, cries of an man echoed the same, piercing shrieks of pain reverbated The man swaggered out the entrance, not intentionally, but felt compelled to do so Andy, the voice in his head, instructed his stagger, his breath encapsulating the man, an crepuscular phantom is he Andy demanded a command, the man proceeded without hesitation, The man picked up the broken shards of the glass bottle, his hand gripping tighter, blood flowing quicker Andy said not another word, did the man do, what he did to the drunken girl

  The old man wandered the dishonoured farm, encapsulated by a profound sadness, fatigue engraved on his worn face. The regret grew more profound each year he spent in his decrepit, troglodytic house, the solemn walls resurrecting the god-awful memory of the losses he'd made in a previous life. He starred in the obscure mirror, lost in its unfamiliar reflection. No longer could he see that ambition, that desire, that raging fire in his eyes. All that remained was the deceiving hollow soul that reflected in the tear-stained glass, the marks leaving no room to see his true self anymore. He was just a shell of what was once a great man.   This old man was a simple farmer man, also ex-head of government of the country, Gerald. In his glory days, he lost the trust of the public and was swiftly demoted before being fired. Now, he was a pathetic being of what was once acknowledged as leader. Gerald had been an endorser of narcissism, believing himself to have possessed superlat...

Food Wastage is increasing in quantity every day. We are running out of land to build waste-to-energy plants and landfills, having also the need to use the land for residential, industrial, commercial and recreational uses. To solve this problem, we will have to reduce food wastage, don't we? So that leaves us with the question, how do we reduce food wastage? These are 8 practices towards reducing food wastage.