Yes......sangat nostalgik ...saya suka akan musim hujan
Semalam petang dalam pukul 6 camtuh, hujan turun melimpah2....
Saya teringatkan poem nih.....cepat2 saya buat hot milo and duduk kat bench di luar rumah saya sambil menyaksikan pemandangan yang best sekali....
Selepas hujan reda, beberapa keping gambar saya snap......huhu dah macam report writing la plak.....
The air is wet, soaks
Into mattresses, and curls
In apparitions of smoke
Into mattresses, and curls
In apparitions of smoke
Like fat white slugs furled
Among the timber
Or silver fish tunnelling
The damp linen cover
Of school books, or walking
Quietly, like centipedes,
The air walking everywhere
On its hundred feet
Is filled with the glare
Of tropical water
Again we are taken over
By clouds and rolling darkness
Small snails appear
Clashing their timid horns
Among the morning glory
Vines
Among the timber
Or silver fish tunnelling
The damp linen cover
Of school books, or walking
Quietly, like centipedes,
The air walking everywhere
On its hundred feet
Is filled with the glare
Of tropical water
Again we are taken over
By clouds and rolling darkness
Small snails appear
Clashing their timid horns
Among the morning glory
Vines
Drinking Milo,
Nyonya and Baba sit at home.
This was forty years ago.
Nyonya and Baba sit at home.
This was forty years ago.
Sarong-wrapped they counted
Silver paper for the dead.
Portraits of grandfathers
Hung always in the parlour.
Reading Tennyson, at 6 p.m in pyjamas
Listening to down-pouring rain
the air ticks
Silver paper for the dead.
Portraits of grandfathers
Hung always in the parlour.
Reading Tennyson, at 6 p.m in pyjamas
Listening to down-pouring rain
the air ticks
With gnats, black spiders fly,
Moths sweep out of our rooms
Where termites built
Their hills of eggs and queens zoom
In heat. We wash our feet
For bed, watch mother uncoil
Moths sweep out of our rooms
Where termites built
Their hills of eggs and queens zoom
In heat. We wash our feet
For bed, watch mother uncoil
Her snake hair, unbuckle
The silver mesh around her waist,
Waiting for father pacing
The silver mesh around her waist,
Waiting for father pacing
The sand as fishers pull
From the Straits after monsoon.
The air is still, silent
Like sleepers rocked in the pantun,
Sheltered by Malacca.
From the Straits after monsoon.
The air is still, silent
Like sleepers rocked in the pantun,
Sheltered by Malacca.
This was forty years ago,
When nyonya married baba
- Shirley Geok -lin Lim
When nyonya married baba
- Shirley Geok -lin Lim
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