May one’s thoughts be a chariot,
To take him to a place flesh shall never journey .
There where one once lived,
And the tongue calls yesterday.
Where one once cried,
Or succumbed to extreme fun
Shaking hands with pain’s long arms.
That time when he rejoiced in growing up,
Along with days that aged too,
Only to emerge again with names new.
The past now a portrait hanged in one’s memory.
Of running in the African dust and rain,
To a school, to construct sentences.
“Christopher Columbus was a great man”
Yet now one afraid of dying,
Men sweet talks memory into journeys
Back to where one was younger.
Sapping that time’s juicy memories,
Yet rooted in age’s path.
“Oh Holy times, where art thou.”
Time yet continues to journey,
On a sloppy path,
Fate with her invisible veil remains hidden.
Age now a concubine,
Lives in one, sobbing for virginity long lost.
As there is a tug of war in one’s mind,
Fate and age pulls hither,
Memory alone pulls thither.
The Reaper knows,
All this he shall guillotine.