Hills and half-boiled eggs


Abandoned railway station,
Green hills like parents envelope us,
Kluang, for a sunny moment the nucleus of the world.

Ribbing the crew,
Eating tiny packets of nasi lemak,
The world contained within half-boiled eggs.

Din from Chinese families,
On a refulgent Sunday outing,
While smoking thin men gaze intently into nothing.

The hills are silent, and mysteriously strong,
Aged folk drive older cars circumspectly,
Wood houses gape open from the weight of time and rain.

I was here,and will be here again,
And be welcomed and fed,
This place has become mine, like my dining room in Delhi.