THE WOOD OF MY CHILDHOOD

THE WOOD OF MY CHILDHOOD
(how i wish they would stop developing my green hometown, Balik Pulau)

The wood would always be there
as the wood of childhood would be
glimpses from the window
looming in distance
cliffs and big trees
over yonder and up the hill
spirits, serpents and lions
hermit in the cave

Leaves breathing with poignancy
lingering smell of Ganesh’s milk bath
from the Chettiar temple
on silenced dusk
chantings receded as Azan called

Fresh dews on nutmegs and cloves
little feet on
deserted street
passing buddisht monk in the orange robe
as the church bell chimed to call me
into the Convent arms, mother goose rhymes and a b c

they will never die
the memories and the woods
stoic
as the childhood wood
would ever be

*Written and performed during 33 rd World Poet Congress Malaysia
Published in Anthology of 33 rd World Poet Congress

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