Confessions of the Lowly

The clock ticks on, a relentless beat,

For those whose wallets know defeat.

CPF untouched, a morbid dread,

"Will I live long enough?" hangs overhead.

A lottery ticket, a four-digit dream,

A fragile hope, a fleeting gleam.

"Investment," they sigh, with weary smiles,

For a chance to escape these thankless miles.

Canned beans and noodles, a convenience store's fare,

A cheaper sustenance, a burden to bear.

Hawker's delights, a luxury untold,

As every dollar must be closely controlled.

Government handouts, a much-needed grace,

A small reprieve in this relentless race.

Vouchers clutched tight, a lifeline so thin,

Stretching each cent, to somehow just win.

Across distant seas, the parcels arrive,

Taobao's allure, where savings survive.

Local shops suffer, a silent lament,

As budgets dictate where each dollar is spent.

Retirement's a whisper, a faraway shore,

Two jobs, or maybe more, forevermore.

Community spirit, a vibrant display,

But time is a thief, stealing moments away.

So they toil and they strive, in shadows they creep,

While the fortunate slumber in comfort and sleep.

A silent struggle, a truth often missed,

The quiet endurance of lives tightly kissed

By the harsh realities, the constant refrain,

Of stretching too little, through hardship and pain.