Home > Poe-try! > Singapore, you are really not my cuntry.

Singapore, you are really not my cuntry.

Fan-poetry of Alfian Sa’at’s infamous piece.

Singapore, you are really not my cuntry.
Singapore, are you even a cuntry at all?
You’re amazing, Singapore
half-bred suburbia-mass consuming wireless broadband,
Starbucks coffee,
mise en placed neighbourhoods in clean-swept streets,
you are not my cuntry at all.
no, not me
in my five-room HDB glory,
pessimistically optimistic
faux-middleclass kid,
shedding proletarian tears.
Singapore, how can you be my country?
You’re ridiculous, Singapore
Wasteland of a thousand acronyms,
Faustian, mind-controlling
Human though, still useless.
Singapore, my country? cannot be, lah!
‘Wilcurm Torpman’-spouting cheena nuns
running around in topshops
who don’t know the difference
between “skinny” and “flare”
whatever happened to our it-boys, Singapore?
our art-schoolin’ kohl-eyed sexy arses.
Singapore, you are really not my country.
youth-plundering
my Mille-feuille of collapsing dreams
ashes to ashes
dust to dust
LKY to LHL
a digitizing dynasty
feeding on us,
anti-citizens
scrunching boulders
quicker than you can say
Sing Kah Poh,
Li jin eh ngm see wah eh kok kah!

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