we all live in hutches, rooms
familiar and unfamiliar
brightly lit, dark, mysterious
unknown and gloomy
they punctuate each and
every of our thoughts
our voice echoes each and
every chamber, some distinctly,
some meekly, some warmly
some coldly, some lost between
winding dark and lit corridors
we choose to dwell in
reassuring rooms but they all
soon suffocate us with drudgeries
our attention turn to those sealed,
which we love to think a divinity sits,
who makes sure we follow through
every word of his scripts written in
the light of every chamber sealed
with the spirit of our breaths
John Tiong Chunghoo
