Alvin Pang (b. 1972)
SELECTED POEMS
Made of Gold
“The villagers were told that if they put their hands on the walls of Tekka market, money will flow out.”
—The Straits Times, 23 Aug 1998This too, is an image of ourselves:
Walls that bleed money.
Dusty streets lined with gold.
Wave after wave, a babel sea
of dreamers on our shores. They build
our towers like cliffs, strong
against the sky. They build our homes
and our temples. In return
we lead them to our gods. Some are blessed.
Others learn to stretch a day's pay
for weeks, to be looked oddly upon
without flinching, to eat
with cracked hands.First they take all my money.
Then they take me to JB in lorry
later go Singapore in tour bus.
I hide in luggage hole with five others.
I scared. They just push us in like that.
Now I know they crooks but too late,
I cannot go back they kill me I owe so much.
I cannot pay back enough. Agent take my passport
then dump me on streets of Tekka. I wash
dustbin I scrub dump I sleep sometimes I eat.
This all I got after working a
year. If only someone told
me the walls of Tekka
not made of gold.
by Alvin Pang
from City of Rain (2003)
