Young and Old Concominantly

(a small homage to roxana's beautiful blog)



And if I told you I could feel past days pressing on my skin, you would accuse me of being insincere. Yet, age old habits die hard. I have meticulously recorded your footprints on my chest, but they never last longer than the fading din of your voice.









You ask about voices? I have no need for the garrulousness of others. As dark clouds scud by, I drown the chatter with hisses and frothy hums . Perhaps it is Gallipoli this time.









Night falls and I regress to boyhood. All evidence of the past has been erased. I feel nothing ... what a glorious ascent. But now, I hear that raucous hum, and the salty breeze batters my face, its soporific charm outmaneuvering my will to resist till another halcyon dawn ebbs at my tar-stained feet.