THE REWIND

The tapes that make up my mind 

Play in the most dynamic ways: 

The scenes that stage my innocence 

Are rewinded time and forth 

To paste onto the thickening shrubs 

Of life, that create worlds that act 

As a haven, when my wings break. 

I can see the—by then—love of my life 

Smiling with sunrises and sunsets 

Onto the starving canvas of my eyes, 

I pause to count the smooth white pillars 

That stand in halves in her mouth. 

I navigate the brown soils of her skin, 

And realised God dug an extra pore on it. 

I forward to blow the peeping tears away. 

I skip to the day when I first had 

A taste of maturity; I could go out til late, 

Like the world outside the house 

Was a room I made my playground —

All the toys now break before my eyes. 

I rewind to when nakedness 

Was my favorite suit: 

When my face was always a wet house 

Mopped daily by a caring drier hand. 

I forward a little later 

When the smallest grain of freedom, 

Amidst rules, was a meal that made 

Me forget the taste of starvation. 

I redeem from death the buried flashes 

Of golden moments; 

I travel through time, time and forth. 

I clog in the sweetest pain, 

And smile in the darkest of sorrows; 

I talk with the dead—and bury them again, 

Sacrificing my mind to nostalgia. 

©1916