The Friday Before

By Emily Wong

As we trace our steps
Briskly walking through the Civic District
As we mingle with the crowd
Bearing witness to the pulsating city pace
As we ponder over the Old and the New
Taking in the non-fishy scent
Beside the Singapore River
Unlike the old filled with scum
The reminiscence of our past
Weighing against the present skyline
Ignite a thankful heart
Sending a deep appreciation
For the transformation
Touching us to the core
And the morning cumulates
To a page of potpourri mix

The Old and the Young
Old sites new additions
Same old self no doubt
Yet different within

Memories of old
Rekindling fresh insights
The grandeur of our past
A sense of National Pride

As our founding father
Lays ill in bed
The nation seems to divide
Whilst prayers are wrought
The unbelievable hoax surprised
Who would have guessed?
Such disrespect would abide
For a man who has toiled
All his adult life
To build a nation such as ours
The Old and the New
Will they ever meet?
I sigh

The river may be cleaned
Yet memories of old linger
The temple has stood the test of time
At the same place
For different devotees
Grandma used to frequent
The Seng Wong Beo Temple
At the corner of Tras Street
A chicken in her basket
Joss-sticks and incense papers
Offered to her gods
For the protection
Of her beloved family
Prosperity not excluded

Tasked to be a lookout
That the chicken remained
Safe on the plate at the altar
Owner unaltered

Grandma would offer her joss-sticks
Creating swirls of scenty smog
All around the temple ground
My eyes would water
As the stink of the smog
Meet the pair of little eyes

My reward for braving
The dimly lit corner
All by myself -
Was time spent
With grandma at the little shop
A pit stop for a quick bite
Of fried vegetarian beehoon
And peanut porridge

Now the reward
Is the lasting memories
I hold close to my heart