Singapore's Underground Man 3 (Dec 2019) Poem by Andrew Lee

Against a glittering night sky

that spans above Benjamin Sheare's Bridge,

I see silvery hair inside your nostrils.

You're getting old. Half a century years old.

Time to let go. And you're a strange Underground Man

who follows me like a ghostly twin,

who likes the sweetness of Chinese lichee

and the fragrance of a fading bottle of perfume

left behind by someone you love,

and the twinkles of mass-printed paintings

by Rembrandt and Matisse and Van Gogh.

All of sudden, you remember that night

more than twenty years ago

when your body felt like feathers

that traveled across the Milky Way

after you did some meditation

based on Jack Kornfield's advice...

Was that the beginning or the end?

Perhaps it doesn't matter.

I continue to do some time travel now.

Can't stay underground all the time...