Tag: memory

This man: Lee Kuan Yew

Lee Kuan Yew was the first Prime Minister of Singapore. He was a greatly admired leader and was a force to be reckoned with, in these parts of Asia. He had his fair share of positives and negatives, as does any human. But his reputation as one of the greatest leaders in history is well-deserved, as evidenced by the hundreds of people who turned up under umbrellas and lined the streets on a rainy day, to show their respects during his funeral procession.

My friend’s sister wrote a poem in Tamil in his honor and I have tried to translate and recreate its meaning in English. I hope you get to see his greatness through our words and are inspired to know more about him, his legacy and his Singapore.

  • Lee Kuan Yew Tamil Poem
  • By Saraswathy Jothi Ramalingam
This man
Our very own
Iron-man
Our treasure
Our savior
Lost too soon
To the wiles of time.
 
This man
Our very own
Force of resistance
Our immunity
Against the evil
That threatened
To cloud the nation.
 
This man
Our very own
Warrior
Before whom
The ghosts of failure
Scattered into smoke
Decayed into dust.
 
This man
Our very own
Lethal legend
Who brought back
From the brink
Of decline and demise
And let this nation
Strive and thrive.
 
This man
Our very own
Revolutionary
Radical leader
Who gave us
The Tamil tribe
A home and haven
An island and identity.
 
This man
Our very own
Keeper
Nourisher
Who served and sacrificed
To forge this red dot
Into an exemplar
Of trials and terrific triumphs. 
 
This man
Our very own
Messiah
A timeless titan
Who vowed
To rise from the dead
To vanquish future misery
To punish the sinners
Who dared to harm
His precious nation
His beloved people.
 
This man
Our very own
Father
A fearless leader
Admired, respected
By the whole wide world
Seemed immortal
In his glory
But passed away
Humbled by life’s mortality.
 
Dearest Sir
Our Lee Kuan Yew
Can you hear
This nation’s hearts
Beating as one
Celebrating your life
Unwilling to let go
Of your legacy
But bidding farewell
A final applause
Before you leave
To rest in peace.
 

The Girl in the Red Dress

I never knew her
The girl in the red dress
I saw her
On the Charles bridge
Walking across, on her heels.

I loved her
The lone girl
Crossing the rain
Under an umbrella
In the dark, on the bridge
Where, Street lights and statues
Stand as Sentinels of virtues.
I knew It was folly 
To fall for her melancholy.

I lost her
Carelessly, on a train
Helpless and insane
She haunts me still
As a memory
Of having loved, and lost
Too soon.

I never knew her
The girl in the red dress
A contrast to the rest.
She was special
Among other things vain
In the golden lane
An art to adore
At a souvenir store.

I only ever knew her
That girl in the red dress
As a sketch, Of black and red
In the castle, much ancient
At Prague, magic so vibrant.

That girl in the red dress
She dwells in that stretch
Flesh, blood and bone
Style, spirit and soul
Where, paintings come alive
To pipe and to jive.

The girl in the red dress
That portrait, that piece
Forever, I shall reminisce.

I fell in love with the city of Prague. It is shrouded in ancient magic that both isolates and enriches the city’s allure. It can only be understood by experiencing the magic, by standing under the statues of Charles bridge at twilight, by wandering around the streets on a cloudy morning and absorbing its quirky charms. Simply put, it’s romantic, in an old world sense and I would be delighted to go back another time just to feel the magic throb in my veins. I got a small painting as a souvenir, of a girl in a red dress, on the Charles bridge. But, I lost my bag at the end of the trip and all my souvenirs along with it. It’s still a sore memory but I would never, ever forget Prague or that girl in the red dress. This is a tribute, to her and to Prague.