During Hari Raya, she knocks on my conscience, I knock on her door and I give her cakes. She says she likes them and gives me Sweets with gelatine inside. I throw them away. Poor woman, doesn't know how to make cakes. Her children eat Maggi after school every day. That's why the elder one is in Normal stream And the younger one can't spell her name. If I was her age I wouldn't be wearing shorts at home. No shame, she doesn't know how to hide her womanhood. When the children are naughty and I beat them I close the door: I hear she's a gossip. But she beats her children harder than I do What to do her children are like that. I once hear her scream she wanted to k** herself. These people never value their own lives. Other times, I see her smile and she smiles back And her children smile and call me auntie. But in our hands we hold with fists clenched tight The keys to our homes, each night we slam the bolt shut.