The nostalgia of innocence. I wonder where we left it off.
Did we know, like, when we left it behind?
Was it the years? Naah, that’s too material
Immaterial parts of it now we do remember
Sometimes such intense is the recall
You recoil at just the thought.
I would give anything to get it back
Though when I do, would I want to give it back?
Seldom do we understand the things that we want
When we do, its mostly on the deathbed
(Or on the bed if one is lucky indeed)
On that, if one’s mind does wonder
We like to think what we will think then
We like to believe the belief that
we would have the groovy
Understanding, satisfactory, dropping
eyelids that will say stories, churn moments
Of bygone attachments; that,
at the bat of it, recount reminiscences,
Content at the thought that one would be remembered
By the select few or the many millions one would ask
It’s the latter we aspire for, the former we value most
If not all.
If not all.
Why then, one would wonder
Why indeed one would ponder
Why what? The fool would venture
Why when? the innocent will whisper
In the din of the kingdom of the dark
As one shall fall one day or the other
Does one wonder if the things we seek
Sit besides ourselves, it does now as it did then
And as it will on that fateful day
But you would have to open your eyes to see
Or maybe, you would see it when you have closed it
For the collective good.
For the good of the mind
For the good of the body
For the good of your beloved
For the good of your foe
For someone’s good who is not you
Nor a shadow of yours
The shadow that reveals what there is to reveal
When the polyphonic tones of the many dresses
You wear cannot.