This Is The Night

By Lydia Lim

on the old grass field, we sit back, 

leaning on our hands and watching 

the sky turn black. it’s oddly quiet, until

a group of old men in the apartment complex

opposite starts singing karaoke off-tune. we

exchange glances and anticipate what

we know we’re about to do. the

racket we produce is loud and exuberant

but there’s nobody telling us

to quieten down, no more teachers calling

one silent clap! or asking if we’re

in a fish market. we are. there’s only 

so many nights left we have to live, so many

days before we forget how to sing, so many

words we could write with feverish eyes, and 

the sky is now gone black, and

this is the night. 

By Lydia Lim