What remains of the days gone by?A splinter of a visual perhaps.
A tree near the church.
Or the water dripping from thirsty taps.
A compound wall hems in the kid I was
As I took in the church and its royalty.
I can see myself there - hand in my mouth-
And my head shying away from the cathedral's majesty.
The flyover patches itself together,
And I see the street lights perched on it during the day.
A bird flies across the white bedsheet called the sky.
And a taxi in black and yellow stops by the church exit to stay.
Simple images, really - they all are very simple.
Yet, as they float around my face -
And wrap themselves in the warm hues of those days,
my heart pounds my chest with a pace
Meant to keep me in my temple and well within my ways.
For it fears I might grab those images and eat them
And then go back to the 1980s.
And there I'll live happily with the church, the taxis,
The street lights, and the rest of them.
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