Language of the Heart

Curling steam

from the Ipoh coffee

wafts through

Shanghai jazz

Stepping inside

the old alleys—

colours dissolve

into monochrome

I find myself

walking and

riding rickshaws—

circa-1950s Chinatown

A beautiful voice

spins my heart

around and around

like a carousel

The figure in stilettos

gracefully tucked

in a silk Qipao

Covered and exposed

simultaneously—

high neck and

a side slit

Barriers fade—

inviting me

into

the language of the heart