The train pulled out slowly
like a long sigh
and I saw from my window
how you stood alone at
the station platform
with hands in your pockets -
you refused to wave
but smiled a reluctant, sorry
kind of goodbye.

Five years ago we skipped
the bahasa melayu class
to play chor dai di
in the dirty, deserted
alley behind
Ah Hin's coffeeshop,
we talked about girls
and about all the
things we'd do
when we were old enough
to get a job or into
university -

things were so much
simpler then.
Now we understand that
the colour of skin
opens doors for some
in this country,
forever closes them
for others.
I'm going south
alone to chase a dream,
because I can,
you can't,
for this I'm sorry
and I really don't know
if I'm ever
coming back.