Paths

The paths are so clean, in a place like Singapore.
Hradly anyone uses them, now that they have cars.
And curiously, they are unhappy over COE prices.

Oh, by the way, don't read this as a poem.
It was not meant to be.
I just want to bite-size everything.

So why 3 lines?
The magic number of 3, perhaps.
Introduction, climax, conclusion.

So, anyway, about the paths in Singapore.
It is undisturbed, for a large part of its life.
Yes, it remains there: silent, still.

It seems so small, so inconsequential.
Yet paths interlink very intricately.
All throughout this country.

I have walked through shortcuts.
I have found open fields.
Places that only paths go.

Cars rush by, but I take my time.
True power, perhaps, is doing just that.
The ability to give control to myself, not commerce.

How can Singapore be boring?
When every fork is an adventure?
Oh, right. You drive on roads.

Paths were the roads, in pre-car times.
The legacy is passed on,
If only we dare to walk.

I would like to walk home.
But there is school the next day.
And homework still undone.

So I'll take a car now.
To save so much time.
After all, I still am in the system.