There Is Something Hostile About The Entering...

There is something hostile about the entering –
the cold air blasting in greeting
when the doors slide open to let the hundreds in,
beep-beeping at every stop
with tireless unfailing;
and the many nameless faces –
cold and expressionless – save for the tired creases
the morning sun has yet to iron out.

Some nodding off in corners; others seemingly immersed
in their Streats or Today,
or the current bestseller from Borders;
and from some obscure spot, you hear
the faint harmonies of someone’s digital player
before the din of the rails
as the train enters its subterranean route
drowns it (and your thoughts) out.

What’s so good to be part of the hundreds
that get off at Tanjong Pagar, Raffles Place, or Novena –
coming up from the ground,
from multiple exits and across the streets,
rushing into crowded passageways,
into crowded entrances and crowded lifts
to get to their fluorescent-lit office spaces
with partitions to shut them out

of the hundreds everywhere else,
on the same floor, in the same high-rise building
who will crowd the same cafeteria somewhere
or other eateries across the square –
and the only thing to look forward to
is when you’re back in the lifts and in the streets,
into the crowded buses and crowded trains,
back to the place
where you started out?

---- circa 10th July 2004.