Memories are little peepholes

For glances into our pasts,

Joyful and sad, tumultuous and sedate.

We flush them out,

Often one by one,

Sometimes in clusters.

Oh, there are so many,

Some to be cherished and and nurtured,

Often taken out

To be dusted,

To be polished, 

And to be placed

In a treasure chest.

Unwelcome memories have 

Uncanny urges to escape

To be reopened and to provoke

With pinches and punches,

To be reexamined,

To wipe away the hurts and pains

And, finally,

To be reconciled and embraced

As one more experience

To be placed as  moments

To complete the panorama

Of a life fully lived!

Is it a deep sigh

That wafts up to me

In the gentle breeze?

There is sadness

In this breath;

There is mourning

In this puff of air.

Is it a statement

That Lily is no more?

My heart is squeezed

By writhing wires

And is lacerated.

Lily is, surely, gone!

Yet, I feel

Morsels of Lily clinging,

Never letting go.

Oh, such precious links

That still keeps me whole

With dulcet grace

That was Lily!

On earth she walked

In the splendor of goodness;

But she is no more

And we are diminished.

Oceans shivered

When, in our foolishness,

We fled our native shores

To foreign climes

And misunderstood

Promised horizons!

Into the gentle silence of rumination,

Leaves shed randomly in little rustle,

Leaving memories helter-skelter.

But one floated up against free fall

To tweak my lost and forsaken dreams-

One memory of a golden childhood

Where flying horses galloped by,

Carpets floated through the air,

Dragons swooped across the sky

And djinns  granted opulent wishes.

It was a dream far from the fantasies,

Treading the realm of science,

Weighing quantities with qualities;

It was a dream to be like Madame Curie,

To trudge among the phials and chemicals,

Discovering elements to benefit mankind.

I grabbed this flustered dream from floating

And, within my poetic pages, pressed it to enshrine.

Oh,The winter enters so quickly

That one forfeits the sight of color,

Leached away from life and limb

In its gelid cold and frigid hold.

Varied grays enshrouded the sky

With clouds pregnant with dense vapor

Above the gloomy landscape

Of gray-barked,  skeletal trunks

Of leaflets trees with spindly arms.

The slate gray lanes stretched ahead

In never-meeting parallels

Bordered by sepulchral white lines.

Conifers stood sentry in charcoal gray

Speckled with previous flurries.

What is ahead in my road, but Gray

That stole away all vitality?

Or do I see pearly white streaking

Through the gray-mantled sky?

Into my days, the girl stepped in;

She tapped and tapped

And brought rhythm to my days.

She tapped on Sunday

And the Sun shone brighter.

She tapped on Monday

And the Moon cast silvery light.

She tapped on Tuesday

And kept Tyr from waging war.

She tapped on Wednesday

And the patch-eyed Wodin smiled.

She tapped on Thursday

And Thor flung his hammer.

She tapped on Friday

And Freya came to the house.

She tapped on Saturday

And sent misfortune’s Saturn away.

For the rest of my days,

Let her tap away my days.