In the 1960s and 70s, Singapore’s countryside was dotted with fruit orchards—in Kampong Lorong Buangkok, along the hills of Thomson, and in the rural stretches of Changi. By the 1980s, most were gone. The poem’s repeated question, "You ask for my home?" is rhetorical. The answer is not an address but a ghost.

So the next time you slice open a durian or peel a rambutan, pause. Let the juice run. Look at your stained fingers. You are not just eating. You are reading a poem. You are holding hands with Goh Poh Seng across the decades.

In a high-rise nation celebrated for efficiency and hygiene, Goh dares to champion the messy, the fragrant, the perishable. He reminds us that a civilization is not judged by its tallest building, but by how it remembers the taste of its fruit.

Among his most evocative, yet under-discussed, works is what critics and enthusiasts have come to call the —a lyrical celebration of tropical abundance. Officially titled "Dedication" or excerpted from his collection "Bird-Man of the Footlights" (depending on the anthology), this poem is a masterclass in using local produce to explore memory, identity, and loss.