This window seat is perfect, though dusty it may be,
To look outside at wandering souls and think of history.
The days I cared for only love and fun, camaraderie
And had a plethora of hopes and dreams, an aching, a need to be.
Those days are gone from me, and now, I look at them through lens
Of sepia-tone and the rosiest rose, so long reality bends.
It twirls and jerks until I feel as though it's '93
That dreamy year, when poetry caressed me, made me free.
I drank a lot of ginger beer, Campari, gin and juice
Attended many jamborees, made memories, danced the blues.
“A vision in a maxi-skirt" is how they spoke of me,
And my slender neck, my jet-black hair, waist tiny as could be.
My escapades now sing a dirge inside of my head,
To happier times, freer times, an unbroken tonic thread.
It soothes me on the good nights, makes me sleepy on the best,
And on the nights of anguish, it stops at my request.
A wonder though, how clear they are, these little sips of past,
A past they say cannot be mine, and then they leave me – fast.
Each time I try to tell them when they call, the things I know,
They tell me to be quiet, I'm a child, what do I know?
I'm told my mother had me in the summer of '03.
How, then, do I feel a longing for the things of '93?
They do not understand me when I speak, and how could they?
Seventeen, but more like fifty; that's why I'm locked away.
He said you'd be a boy, and I thought blue I knew my love would be tried and true I wondered if yours would be too...
Read more8:00 am, and all was squeaky clean at the tiny apartment I shared with my family in one of the slums that...
Read moreI was two when my baby boy-sister was born. My Dad had been reiterating that I would get a baby brother.
Read moreThere are several reasons why I am still awake. My room is dark and hot extremely hot - so hot; sweat is pouring...
Read moreI am but a vision a weak illusion of her you do not want me I am but a fleeting memory gone with the delicate...
Read moreAs for love, In strings of hope I see through tradition the gasps of grief from lost dreams. And burned love...
Read moreThere was a boy, one who learnt the synonym of anger is pain. He tells the story...
Read moreMy sister lies on the ground with her legs wide open, her wig by her side. Its many strands spread out in the...
Read moreMy wardrobe is a mess. Has been for a few weeks now and every weekend, amongst other things, I add “declutter...
Read moreEveryone remembers how the intruders came through the forest and on the water. We remember...
Read morePapa had a different side to him when he was with his Chi than I had seen when he had just finished beating...
Read moreI read your words Years after the grim’s scythe Tore through the dark...
Read more