Bantims of the size of a manchua which are very swift vessels with oars and masts were the vessels were most in used along the coast of Malacca; they are manned by Christian Malays of Malacca who carry their guns and powder flasks.
Bernard Sta Maria
na My People, My Country (1982)
Tokah terumbu; mbes pra mbes
Ja konggontah na mundu nubu sa nubis —
Ila di Pastu, pasku sa otru jemelu ki olotu nggereh,
Intresmiu seu kung infernu, di amiang bai nosta undi ta jingkeh
bong-bong, pra ubih akeli bersu ki tudu sa ubida kereh:
Jingkli Nona, Jingkli Nona, yo sa kaza tokah pedreh.
Isti premesa yo ta mistih bai labeh
na bos sa fogereza, ta diseh
di spasu ja tokah fendeh di Maliduensa sa firida;
Isti istoria inchidu di
sereh, kung safrang, kung bela-bela sa mang
lagreza, maski nus nggeh birah greza;
yo sa galang largu chegah pra dah rekadu kung tudu chumpiang
kung jenti di mar, nus ja skiseh nus Orang Laut sa prima-primang-primu;
ja skiseh klai kuniseh nus onsong sa barku.
Asih beng nabegah bai Marineru sa jarding, undi Eli ta sperah di tempu antigu:
Sior Karimang! Bos chomah.
Rua-rua, pra fing, ja abertu.
You touch the reef; and suddenly,
you are quoted in the world of the clouds and dreams —
the Isle of Birds, Easter Island's other twin that they did not need,
between heaven and hell, from yesterday going toward the past, which is squatting
very well, in order to listen to the song that everyone's ears still heed:
Jingkli Nona, Jingkli Nona, my house has been lost and released.
This promise I am still impelling to the sea
toward your lighthouse, where beneath
I sense the space torn in half by the Maliduensa's sheath;
But now, let this be the filling of history
with lemongrass, and saffron, and the hands of old women, breezily
generous, even though we do not return to church, chapel and sacristy;
my wide mainframe is enough to welcome every form of piracy
and every person of the sea; we have forgotten that with the Orang Laut, we are family:
We have forgotten how to recognise our own boats, ships and seas.
So come navigate to the garden of the Sailor, where They have been waiting since time first came into being:
Sinyor Karimang! You call, without missing a beat.
The Roads, at last, are open and free.