Laksa soup

The soup

is of golden glow.

Waves

break in against the shore,

beancurd puffs are exuding

like doormats on a rainy day.

 

It is a tropical fiesta.

Coconut breeze from a nearby island

is stealing spicy ripples under sporadic leaves.

Prawns leap

and immediately dive

to join the fish of white flesh.

 

Sail a boat of egg yolk,

snug as a baby dreaming

of a mythical creature

in her cradle.

 

 

By Pamela Ho