Bedtime On Tramp - Part One

He woke down the slope, by the hay With him a thousand shrill cries That stilled to him, yawning. He moved with strands of hay, trailing On his rags. Sauntering, he is a flaneur... The road lamps gave him away. He moved and with him, his bed And time moved. Half-way on a bridge over its side He saw a bridge in Japanese ruin Chaffing in the hurrying waters below. He cursed the Japs for lying fallow Spouting his rheum. Pondering, he is a sinner... He knelt for those braves, never to ride. He moved and with him, his bed And time moved. A gale rolled down the road in dust, Churning it up, a regular willy-willy. The fizzing trees corked: the shutters' hinges off. His eyes sore: swaying he would cough. He stood now willy-nilly. Thinking, he is a fritterer... He chased the trapping miasma, loping his Wellingtons' lust. He moved and with him, his bed And time moved. The rains were bursting heavy on the esplanade, A rocky splash soared with spray from the waves. He sought the bulwark of the stony balustrade, The waters were rising over the promenade Like columns of graves. Musing, he is a shirker... He plunged into the sea, bold as a blade. He moved and with him, his bed And time moved. © T. Wignesan, 1948 (from the collection: Tracks of a Tramp. Kuala Lumpur-Singapore: 1961.)