Projections, pronouncements, proclamations.
They herald the march forward, the fattening of the cow,
the building of ornate temples, and the bringing of capitalist Gods.
And yet they never tell you, my fellow kiasu,
about the end of your childhood, the place you once knew.
We are never told what the papers white out.
We are not told about the last makcik Continue reading “Poem: What the papers white out”