Jamil Urfi |
|
A grave for nostalgia
If all time could stop
Then it may stop today.
Memories of bygone days
Are just stupefied frames of an old motion film;
The one we thought
We would see someday.
Today is just another way
Of thinking
That all my yesterdays were predetermined:
My first, second, third . . . . . . endless love
Mystical love, memories and days
To dig a grave for nostalgia.
We may still walk
Holding hands, on the beach.
Your hair will blow wildly in the wind
Covering your face like
The branches of a wayside tree
Stealing into the heart of a sunset.
But your hands will echo
The sounds of distance.
I will throw a nautilus
Into the water
And just think of the sea
And its waves.
Remembering
It is so easy to walk
The hour long fortress
So I walked
With all early morning, rememberable dreams
Writ clearly on my face.
‘Your face is like an open book’, you say.
Read it anytime then
To sample the current literary style
Or determine the effect of your perfume
On my new oily dress.
Or look elsewhere
Where our eyes meet
Only a misty haze.
*
It is so easy to walk
The hour long fortress
So I walked
With all early morning, rememberable dreams
Writ clearly on my face.
‘Your face is like an open book’, you say.
Read it anytime then
To sample the current literary style
Or determine the effect of your perfume
On my new oily dress.
Or look elsewhere
Where our eyes meet
Only a misty haze.
*