We still do not know.

Your soul slipped away; your body unable, broken beyond repair.

Behind the opaque walls of law and order, you died.

Mati. Of the many truths, that is truest.

The rest we may never know.

They said you were a thief, a robber, a druggie, or had something to hide.

Said you jumped off a building, ODed, or fought to get out.

Said you were wrong.

Is that true, my friend? Is that true?

Were you wrong or were you wronged?

We do not know you.

How you lived, your wife, your kids, your mum.

But we remember you

if that makes any sense in this sometimes senseless world.

Can you see those prayers? They're cutting contrails in our hearts.

Here's a flower to your name, nameless one.

From one human being to another.

That by remembering, you gain that measure of dignity.

Even if your country's institutions saw it less fit to do so.

It will all change, you know.

It will.

As real as the petals that flowed down the river,

and the glow of the candle's flame,

It will.

Pictures / Robert Foo

Malaysiakini's video of the memorial by the river.