Tuesday, December 20, 2011

to.... a past which pays no dividends anymore....

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...

But now,
in a new spring of life
the autumn past
sends it reminders...

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