The Guest from the Past

This place in my memory

Never was as I see it;

The words I hear echoing

Were by Time paraphrased;

/

The nostalgia I feel

Half-dreaming up, half-remembering

My past is but myself

Trying to make peace with me;

/

There were things that I treasured,

A few people, who loved me,

There was a house to call home

And a county – my own;

/

I’ve been running for years

From the routine some call happiness;

This nostalgia I feel

Is the gap between myself and me

The Form

When I imagine that I’m not,

Remind me that I am a shadow:

Look through me like I am a ghost,

Walk past me with a sudden shudder;

/

Do not allow me to forget

That I am not a whole but pieces

Together strung, together torn

Away from the key one, gone missing;

/

When I pull on my human skin,

Do not believe the frail illusion,

And through your eyes don’t make me see

What I once used to be – a woman;

/

I must forget the one I was,

Give up the rights to love and to desire,

And find a fuel to feed the fire,

Which burns on in my heart against all odds;

/

When you imagine that I’m not,

I must remind you I’m a shadow:

Look at you as if through a veil of cold

And walk right past you nonchalantly

Amnesia

Come and tell me who I am,

And I’ll believe you

I’ve forgotten who I was –

Or never knew

/

I am turning a new page;

It’s voidness scares me,

And I beg, ‘write something now,

Write something true’

/

Come and tell me that I’m not

What mirrors tell me:

That I’m not a cracked vessel

Of stale dreams

/

Not a little girl at heart –

With aging features,

Whose old world is bursting

At the seams

/

Come and tell me what you think

I ought to be now;

Write a page for me

In my unfinished book

/

I am almost done with it; perhaps

Another couple stories;

At the ones that came before

I cannot bear to look