Overlooking the lake in the Botanic Gardens
stands a two-hundred-year-old Tembusu tree.
Under its shade a wooden bench,
the perfect hideout from the humidity.
Its leaves whisper untold stories of history-
A lover’s rendezvous at dusk,
the tender gaze of a childless woman
watching children play,
and a young girl’s contemplation of life-
A continuous state of flux and motion.
A never-ending cycle of creation and destruction
for the old to make way for the new.
But this two-hundred year old Tembusu tree
stands firmly in its sanctuary,
the link between the past and present;
An untouched treasure that has escaped the
indestructible forces of economic development.
I believe I am not so lucky.