Memory is a funny thing.
It mixes up the real and the unreal
and it changes each time I recall.
Was it really happened, I wonder.
I think people die and resurrect
within this same life, many times.
As the space changes, time changes.
But memories don't go away.
The smell of fresh cut grass
and the fragrance of wet soil after the new rain,
all bring memories of intimate spaces,
are they from the past life or this one?
Memories of all my mothers of past lives,
and all my brothers, lovers and sisters...
A gentle presence of a lost friend,
a distant call of my ancient names.
Have I stayed in that hotel room and slept tired,
when I was my own great great grand father
Does that oak tree recognize me now
That mountain, the river and the lake?
All have that familiar look in their eyes.
I feel all of us are dancing in a time warp
or in the whirlpool of a timeless soup!
It is raining heavily here, all day and all night
and I feel like melting into the wet soil.
photo: 'september rain' /wyanad, kerala/ sebastian©2009.
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