I dreamed the dance of my uncle
as Ah Gong bestowed lashes of his temper
because from the poison needle
he drew grave mistake into his temple.
He floated away but storm raged in him
and he was arrested.
In the long queue of grim
for him Ah Ma and I awaited.
In her hand a tingkat merrily swayed
heavy with sadness, self-reproach but also love
At the aroma of the familiar and those days
His tears swamped with guilt and came in droves
Time travel is no pleasure
I want to go back to the future.
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