as we pollute the air as litterers we are,
great drinkers of San Miguel beer
or Coke or Starbucks, listening
to Lady Gaga or Bruno Mars,
time with its subtle forms,
clocks on walls ticking,
calendars on the desk,
watches fidgeted by students
or workers hurrying, seems to have
healing hands, wounds healing,
and when distance doesn’t have
far options which we can choose,
we, like water, easily contour
each crevice and each form we were,
once, familiar with.
Then the pain is over.
We’ll realise after that it’s
the memory, like a knife, that
refreshes the pain as it cuts
the wound about to heal
over and again.
Only then can we feel the real
disappearing of anguish or abhorrence
shrouding our heart, our sentiment flying.
No comments:
Post a Comment