Green Heart
On the last of the days we spent in the rolling sunshine,
you looked at me and asked
"Where do you come from, exactly?"
I smiled, and pulled back my shirt, and revealed, upon my bare manly chest
the Heart of Te Fiti, creolised and made into a kerongsang,
just between you, and me, and eternity.
We have now come so far
that Life itself flourishes so very far away from our little moon and five stars:
Singapore,
you know I fell in love with you,
that first beautiful light-listed day in the past.
You were not as tight-fisted then;
and I still did not understand how hard
it would be,
to explain my destiny to myself.
That in falling in love with you
I was putting myself through hell
and back, and heaven, open to attack
by such a steely, self-loathing paradise as whatever took over
Pulau Ujong. Alack,
as they say in Shakespeare,
what have we here?
Will anything across this blasted heatland ever grow back?
Yes, I say, putting my shirt back on,
your Merlionsman never forgets, Singapore.
You abused me so fucking badly that I will write poetry about it for eternity and more:
but I do not break promises. I do not lack
for a green heart of courage that instead transforms
all your failed Eunoias into visibility:
into an archipelago across dimensions
that at last, needs recognise it must, now or never, urgently become something more.