"We shall not cease from exploration and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started
and know the place for the first time." (T S Eliot)
"A dark and chanted verse is what I am." (
Forough Farrokhzad)

Wednesday, October 28, 2015

CONVERSATION WITH AN OLD FRIEND

It was like going back,
Way back, in time.
Then suddenly there was no time at all,
Except for blurs
That position themselves as the past.
And we talked of children
And their children standing tall.
I kept hearing the melody
Of secure serenity
In your voice,
Something like an echo of hard work,
Or meticulous choice,
And, I am sure, much, much more.
But most rewarding of all,
There were tributes
In our common memories -
Hymns to people
And places
And welcome recollections
Of a world where, so happily,
No one expected perfection.
Where did it all go?
Handwritten notes,
Diagrams like stick pictures,
And faded jeans
With picked stitches
Where someone
Had lowered the hem
To make them last
For one more year.
Were we always growing so fast
In those months of only knowing,
Those days of future with no past?
When did we hit the wall,
Stumble, and fall
Into the traps
Made of normality's mishaps?
Would we change it
And rearrange it?
Who would we sacrifice,
And whom would we rob,
In order to pay the price?
No.
And,
No one.


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