Picture Imperfect
The past passed so fast
The days got hidden by the dust of living
Memory modified, edited or deleted
To adapt to what we want to be
Some things we swear
Didn’t happen
Wish they didn’t
But they did.
The photos are the minutes of the past
The moments of pleasure
And
The moments that did not pan out
The way we wanted to.
There I see
The babies born, crawl, cry and kiss
The girl can't wait to be a woman
The boy in the sand hole in the beach
The birth, the death,
The growing up and growing old
And going to grave so suddenly
I want so much to hug that small girl
And run after the tiny toddler
But they are only in pictures now
Even though they are here
In a different form
At the telophase of growing up
What about me?
In the late afternoon
I am still a wonderer
A wanderer
Combing for the essence of being alive
In books, in smiles and in tears
Watching people and me
As we suffer to love
And love to suffer
Like butterflies
Stung with the thorns of the roses.
((*.*))
July 2006 |