I once met an artist from the Orang Asli of Malaya who have been forced onto small reservations by the invading Melayu people. His angry work told a sad story which was lost on his potential customers.

What do I know of what you say.
I live my life from day to day.
The strangers come and slash and burn
I ache to complain — but must “wait my turn”.

Then comes this artist to paint my life,
But really I want him to just paint my wife.
I smile with respect
He picks up his brush

The artists sees more, sees the torment and pain
Paints it out clearly again and again
Tells the world the bleak story
of histories gory,
of wrecked angular lives
through rectangular frames;
of flashing curved knives
slicing homes without names.

The world needs to know
And I know I can show.
My pictures are clear
And are deeply sincere

And you’d better believe what you’re seeing!!

Its nice there’s so much red.
It’ll go with the wall in the hall.
“What’s that you said?”
There’s a message and all?

O, Yes,
A message.
Well the faces are nice
The style is intriguing

Look at the brushwork
It’s all so appealing

You know what,
It’s so avant-garde
We’ll give it its place —
Outside in-the yard.