Memories of kampong sounds

The singing of the bullfrogs
throughout the humid night
told us it would not be long
before rain gave cool delight









The humming of the cicadas
pulsed in chirring monotone,
serenading an evening stroller,
suddenly silence, he's all alone

Long before dawn, I awoke
to a rooster's loud crowing;
once, twice, thrice, then the
sparrows started twittering

But now I hear those sounds
only vaguely in my memory,
while I am blasted daily with
noises, discordant, incessantly,

of car horns and roaring bikes,
harsh pounding and clanging
of piling hammers, & strato-
blasters of motorcars passing









Oh, of black-naped orioles,
what would I give to hear
their sweet warbling again,
‘ere they too soon disappear