Oh, wondrous train of sleekest sheen,
With fares that rise like kites unseen.
You gleam so bright, you shine so new,
Yet break down more than budget shoes.
“Ride with us!” your posters beam,
As if delays were but a dream.
But stand we must in sweltering heat,
While you conk out on tracks so sweet.
“Upgrading works!” they always say,
As prices hike—no, not okay.
We pay more cash, we wait, we sigh,
Yet still you halt—oh, tell me why!
The PA drones with calm deceit,
“We’re very sorry for the heat.”
While suits in towers count their gains,
We’re packed like sardines—still* no trains.*
So here’s to you, our dear MRT,
A world-class ride… in theory.
You’re almost perfect—what a shame,
That almost is your first name!
#poemsontheMRT
