Regrets...

 

At 45, far from home and my young kids’ laughter,

I toiled in Saudi for fifty thousand in a year,

Only to lose it all on CLOB shares—

Every single dollar, gone.

Do I regret? Yes, I do.

At 55, I flew to Cambodia, a bad dream in my mind—

To raise a cow instead of buying milk close by.

Such was my folly, head full of cow dung dreams.

Do I regret? Yes, I do.

At 60, behind the wheel of a cab,

I ferried strangers, day and night,

For a decent meal, while .some friends scorn in secret delights.

Do I regret? Yes, I do.

At 70, during the COVID storm,

I left the cab and retired alone—

Living on CPF savings, barely enough.

Do I regret? Yes, I do.

Regrets, I've had too many to count,

Choices made wrong, paths not taken.

Now, as eighty draws near, the end is in sight.

I’ll carry these regrets to wherever I go.

But like Frank Sinatra’s “My Way”,

I shall cast them out, along the by-ways.

To live each day afresh, 

And cherish each step I take, each breath I’ve.

To my friends, both rich and poor,

Living and gone, I say with a sigh:

I wish you peace, on earth and beyond—

Here, or perhaps in heaven’s embrace.