By Maya Green
Back to the village, harken to the start,
To touch the roots of a family tree;
I found the offshoots, the pulse and the heart,
And a younger version of “Me.”
We sat for a picture, a study in years,
Shoulders pressed close for the light;
I, who have waded through much,
He, with a future so bright.
His innocence feels like a fleeting chimera,
A soul with no burden or blame;
“Look at the camera,” we’re told by the bearer,
Two “Medans” bound by a name.
It stirred up a ghost, a namesake of old,
One I haven’t seen in an age;
A story of three, now waiting to be told,
To be written on history’s page.
Dateline:
2.42 PM
February 8, 2026
Shah Alam, Selangor DE
