Monthly Archives: February 2015

I Remember January


Morning was the sweetest time that dulcet
gilded blanket washing over the still-cold earth – I remember the dew resting still-asleep on
beds of grass waving in the gentle wind, adorning the faces of the beauties that were
Morning Glory wound around a green chain-linked fence

Sometimes, mushrooms of some sort or other would (after politely inviting themselves in, in the previous, rainy, night)
drink (in moderation, of course) from the still, wet earth
or from the still-wet bark, in rings, rows, winding pathways of white- and wood-duochrome
sometimes red (but rarely! those were the radicals)

Of little notice did they have of my little disturbance, passing by in my little way in my little time –
they lived a life of peace and nature, a span equivalent to the briefest eternity
as measured by the passing of the sun,
its golden waves of comfort nurturing their little souls; and mine.



I Remember February

A Concrete Path Ran Through It

State Land

I remember the fields of superheated cow grass
screaming for rain while I stepped, myself dehydrating, over its browned brethren
soft drink in one hand, the other empty just like my mind while
crossing the great expanse of heat

in my trusty satchel lay the fruits of my boyish recreation
collectibles, cards, coins, crap that adults immediately labelled as
wastes of money
wastes of time
Satanic (I wasn’t even atheist then, not to mention Satanist)
but the land did not judge, just as the Sun does not judge – it shines on
burns all in its characteristic silence.

Now it burns nothing, instead shining its bright holy light
illuminating all that is good – that is, shops, supermarkets, capitalism
all that adults immediately label as
daily economic drivers
daily bread
a breath of fresh air
breathed into the land of waste
and reincarnated as the land of want.



A Dot of Gold

A drop in thousand rides a tidal wave
of thousand voices doth a chorus form
It wavers hardly inches from the norm –
upon it, streets of lives of hopes are paved

Yet thinketh, grasping in an iron first
lays sand too find – of it we think too light
the Knowledge in it we mistake as might
(Against good sense – wholeheartedly resist!)

But mist to mist imagination drifts
To rot, to dust, go our forsaken gifts

A second republic

Yawning Bread


Right up to the last moment, I wasn’t sure if I should use the preamble I had prepared. The point I wanted to make in the preamble was that I believed Singaporeans were going to be instinctively resistant to the idea of constitutional redrafting. Our aversion to taking risks, our long indoctrination in the idea that political experimentation would be extremely dangerous for a small, vulnerable city-state with no natural resources or strategic depth to rely on (yes, a habit of mind formulated by the ruling People’s Action Party, but today espoused by many as almost biblical truth), would likely mean that the idea I was about to float would be dismissed as a foolish, hazardous pipe-dream.

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Memorie5 0f Home: 1

It was always an image of warm, pastel, muted Sun
It was an image of Europe.

Of course I hadn’t seen the Americas, Oceania, Asias – anywhere else seemed
a world away
a time away (a long time indeed)
All I cared about was how the dew sat sleeping on the lime luminescent blades of
cow grass. “Cow Grass”. No fiddly jiminy “carpet grass”,
far from the Lalang (not Cattail) of tropical repute, not,
heaven forbid, the astroturfing nonsense that modern centennials are so familiar with.

Morning dew, Morning sunrise, Morning glory, fresh from the sprouts that grow all
through the night, just waiting, patiently,
silently – not there if unnoticed;

It is the little things that make us who we are
even if the timeworn, human, fallible memory of the mind
may falter and fade