The lights of Johor Bahru twinkling
In the distance, seen from the tenth-storey
Perch of my family home in Woodlands
Entice the questing, querying mind
With the thought — not just of what
Lies within its glassy, neon-peaked citadels —

But of the lands that lie beyond — the rippling
Vastnesses of palm plantations, the crispness
Of Cameron Highland air, the submerged
Forests of Lake Kenyir.

Thus, while the weight of blue night
Rests heavily upon the Johorean skyline,
The swift-like mind seeks perspectives
Barely discerned, vistas which draw one
Precisely because of the mystery
Sensed in them.

             ***

Books too have their own horizons
And are perhaps of more value for what
They do not say than for what
They do; the most cherished tomes
Are the ones which spur thought —
What is sought
In them is that quietude that is
The birthing place of words, those depths
Which no language can plumb,
That space beyond
Vocabulary’s reach.

It is here that we touch what is
Measureless, eternal, first spark
Of divinity.