Windows

There are Windows in the mind
By which we catch the moon;
See distant hills become inclined
As sunlight scotches noon.

What Windows gather, frame,
Have founding tales to tell;
A quiet history without name,
That turned out bright and well.

At Tanjong Pagar, by the field
The people anxious shout:
Oh the brush with cunning, wield:
Oh bring magic Window out.

Show us our house, our home
From which we people grew,
As Little India chanted Om,
As Chinatown snipped off the que.

Wrapped in skins of blue and brown,
Buildings fight dullness and decay.
Magic Window scans the town –
Our city's dream is years way.

He who built this one with joy
Came from ‘head of hill',
Arriving penniless, a boy,
He worked and skimped until

Success with many heads became
The habit of his fate. Honest, brave,
True in heart, in promise, his fame
Grew as he shared, and gave.

Each Window painting is a tale,
Some sad but mostly ending well.
Imagine hard. Eye each detail,
Till the colours speak and tell

Of those who came and made
This island hum, yet keep its shade.

Edwin Thumboo