Crescent moon of the 7th month
Beams gently down
On the narrow, wavy path
To Punggol Beach
A string of amber bowls
Hanging from metal branches
Tears a winding path of brightness
Amid scrawny trees
Touched by an icy finger
The drying floor
The vapour of the woods
The cracked rubber seed pods
Under my rapid steps
Crunching in the stillness
The road rises and falls
Teasing my happy feet
Like a concrete sea
That leads to the beach
My pounding heart sinks
At the end of the road
The concrete path is growing into the sea
A natural beach is not beautiful enough
Trucks and diggers will make the cut
Turning back, I head for home
Save for the “good brothers”
I’m all alone.
A car drives past, the driver looks cold
I’m human or spirit, he never will know.
Dewdrop Notes
Dr Chan's Kitchen