Little Red Drop

After a whole night of searching I've discovered
That there is no print edition
Of any kind of Literary magazine or journal in Singapore.

Is literature really so unloved here?
Will no one sow seeds into it?

And yet we splurge many a dollar,
On fashion mags and tabloid spreads
A dime a dozen!

What tragedy.

When we feed our souls
Do we dress only our bodies?
And leave our minds

Naked

Malnourished
Uncared for

Do our minds not have needs?

Or perhaps
We think
They have no use



Dashed are my hopes
Of ever finding
The thrill of a new copy
The smell of fresh print
Of glossy surfaces
With words beautifully dancing

No precious gathering
No careful collecting
Of brilliant treasures -
Of written gold
No "latest edition!"
To cherish and hold

Only the temporal
A mere tiny drop
In the vast ocean
We call the World Wide Web

A single drop
From a miniscule nation
From an even smaller community
Of huddled writers
Perched with fingers over keys
Rather than pens over paper