get on the bus.

Dear readers,

here, as promised, are the travel poems that theokwek wrote while crossing the roads of Singapore these past few days, by bus and mrt and twofeet. It has been an interesting experience - for one who is barely skilled in local geography - and many inspirations have been gleaned from these waters.

a fine sense of the ridiculous,

The Straight Times Editor.

Confidant

When I was young,

                I once saw

a pile of rusty metal pipes

along the pavement.

 

And I used to think

that my life was like one

of those cold, long, pipes;

squeezed, bent and melded

into precise zero-dimensiality

                by mundane thoughts.

 

Yet

as I grew older,

I realized I didn’t

mind being a long rusty cold metal pipe

(not because this was what

I am destined to be);

But so long as I can

carry the weights of others

and resound their philosophy

across my well-worn surfaces.

 

And be a home

for the birds.

Sitting on a bus

Sitting on a bus

(especially if you’ve got

the front row seat

of the upper deck) seems

to be a timeless excitement;

with the long and endless road

– fraught with endless bumps –

sprawled before you,

an anonymous

child sitting opposite you, a

violin clamped in its

navy-blue case between

your legs, and the comforting

lights of visited stops

stretching behind you;

even though you don’t know where

the next stop is.

 

it’s breathtaking,

when the only thing you can

cling to is the wind

rushing tirelessly through

one open window.

Have you ever?

Have you ever

Not known exactly where

You’re going, Had

a total stranger half your

age and height as

company, and waited

for a phone call which you knew

should come any moment now,

                but hasn’t come

yet?

 

And have you driven

Ceaselessly past unknown

road signs, bearing

distinctly local names but

sounding irritatingly foreign

at the same time?

 

                Or have you

Straddled that numberless bus and

Careened into a cloud?