Youth

I now sleep and dream

Dream of my youth

I do not envy or scream

Through the wires of my distorted phone booth.

My rendezvous with the past

Where oblivion opens its gates,

And time rewinds and rewinds fast

To the beginning of my fate.

I now remember

The color of the sky, the grass, the soil and water

The world was all so sombre,

The mellifluous voice of my daughter.

She notoriously sprinted from corner to corner

And I made efforts to catch her,

When she ran away with that drunkard across the border

I was unable to snatch her

Back from the hands of the devil named destiny

That took my everything away from me.

I do not remember the street lights

But I do remember those dark nights

The starry nights and the constellations so pure

The mornings when the skies were azure.

The warm breath of my mother

Still runs through my veins

Those mediocre, petty fights with my brother,

Still fresh in my brains.

Throwing gravels and stones in the clear sea

Observing the ripples and reflection of the clouds

Sipping bottles of brandy and whisky

Listening to Mozart, I smoked and howled.

We had one chandelier.

Mother stitched the curtain with white thread

Rusted metal and wood in abundance

A velvet blanked covered my bed.

We had marble floors

My works of graffiti inked the wall

My life was then a labyrinth

And my thoughts were abstract, naïve and small.

Mosquitoes were a nuisance, even the bees

They buzzed around for nectar

They were in a treasure hunt for our jasmines, orchards, sunflowers and lush green fields

The spirals they created were a spectre.

I used to chase butterflies

And capture them on the canvas with my trusted pallete

With opera playing in the background

I used to decipher the parrot.

I remember my princess

In her gown and holding her staff

I remember her aura and forbidden beauty

And I was sloshed when she laughed.

She was perfection, and so, a taboo

I first saw my angel when I bent to tie the laces to my shoe

But in an epiphany, she deserted me

Casting a shadow of gloom and despair upon me.

This was the beginning of the end,

The creation of voids which were impossible to mend.

I was now an orphan comforted by nightingales,

And I believed in fables and fairy tales

At aurora, turquoise covered me like Venice,

And I had a renaissance, seeing silhouettes of my life without a menace.

I was at sonder and nostalgia took control of me

Bringing back those sorrowful memories.

An umbrella could not contain the teardrops of my sorrow,

No luminescence could cure the darkness I borrowed.

And now, it was just blood oozing out of my veins,

My arteries screaming and my bones in endless pain.

Staring at orange, I got an aroma, an effervescence

Hearing the clattering of coins, a new essence

The smell of cloth was being summoned by the birds

And mixed with cinnamon and bronze and maple, the very fragrance returned.

My nostrils stumbled

As the sparrows mumbled

It was as if they were an espionage

Creating, yes creating a montage.

A montage that had my insomnia

And serendipity as the central character

A montage that embezzled my happiness

Ineffable for all vectors.

And as time passed by, my life hanged on thin fabrics

And I was now dependent on walking sticks.

The bulb, the vase, the portrait, my fingerprints were the same

But I was not me anymore

The ceramic, the spoons, the cups, the plates were the same

But now, no one knocks at my door.

The graphite’s fragrance was now in zig-zags in a flask

And the only consolation was that my horrid emotions were covered by a wrinkled mask.

I wish I could laminate the sand that slipped out of my fists

And lock it up in a suitcase,

Along with my bell bottoms, my polkas, my spectacles,

And not my old, wrinkled face.

Only I, hear my cough and sneeze

Only I, feel my beard, my white beard swaying with the breeze.

My eloquent lips now taste the cup of tea

As I sit in solitude,

Hoping to make a collage of my journey

A testament to my fortitude.

A final frown,

As in my own blood, I drown.

As my finale act,

I try to use a paintbrush to hide my wrinkles

And use the cushion that gave me solace for all these years

To suffocate me, until there is that last twinkle.

That last twinkle signifies me

It tells the world who and what I was

Now I am just a pale old oak tree

A tree that the modern world does cuss.

But I do not envy my youth

I do not…. Envy my youth

I do not envy….. my youth

I do not envy my…… youth.