What should I do with a past
which pays no dividends anymore?
That face which haunted the lonliness
of my childhood days?... which grew and vanished,
fading like the evening sunrays...
What should I do with those dry whithered leaves,
of a long forgotten spring,
which flow into my house
with the atumn breeze?
... they knock on my door, rustle on the floor
twist and swirl, unfurl the scars
of a mental crease...
I had once collected the days and years
in verses and proses,
I had once been my antique-collector,
I had painted ghosts, and sketched lost souls...
...had redrawn lines on fading figures.
I had tried to capture my past -
- intact, classified - in multi-coloured jars...
I had althrough tried
lighting old stubs for a smoke,
and got stale taste in the mouth
and almost choked.
I learned the futility and let the past fly,
fade fro the eyes...
in a new spring of life
the autumn past
sends it reminders...