Every time
a Singaporean says
Sang Nila Utama
must have seen a tiger
cos there are no lions
in the jungles of Singapore,
a mythical red and white
Singa dies.

 

This is the threat carried out
by the terrorist organization
known as the Republic of Poets’
League against Excessive National Literalism
in a bid to forestall
the death of our collective soul.

 

As a member of this League
I had to personally execute
a prince of a lion this morning
hardening my heart as I drew
the parang across its majestic
furred neck, and it is now
late afternoon, and I still cannot shake
the look of utter betrayal
in my hostage’s golden yellow eyes

 

and all because my aunt saw
my copy of The Second Link
on the table and thought
it was a storybook about tigers.
I was about to tell her it was really
an anthology about cross-strait relations,
when she said


You know,
It is true there were
tigers in Singapore
But to say there were lions
is to believe any old
story lor.

 

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