I don’t remember the house in which I was born,
Nor any where I played
The memories disjointed, torn
Images, a lifetime grayed.
I remember running away from home
To go play unauthorized cricket,
And coming back for lunch
Because I knew ma would make my favourite omelette.
I don’t remember the people
Who, from the edge, kept pulling me down
“For my own safety”
They had always said, always with a frown.
I do remember the shattered glass,
the fight whether it was a ‘six’
The penfights in class,
And the sleeping in civics.
I don’t remember had-been-friends
And relationships with bitter ends
“Hi”s, “hello”s and other pretends
And obtuse views that life subtends.
I remember friends, names long forgotten
Faces blurred with cruel time;
Bitter-sweet ghosts of the past,
Of childhoods, sublime.