Inside my Singaporean dreamscape in the dress of a haiku,
there are no blocks of HDB flats and no concrete forest.
Instead I keep walking like David Hockney's ageless figure,
a freak hiker who loves open spaces where no humans live,
and I flail about in the middle of a bottomless river
that runs across a different Grand Canyon that echoes
'The Persistence of Memory'.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem