One day, I will return (poem)
One day, I will return…
No, this is not the right word.
“Returning”
Means coming to a place where I once was.
But it does not exist because
My memory has turned it into rain.
Let’s try again:
One morning, when I walk
Along the streets that bear deceptively familiar names,
Some even hiding echoes of my childhood games,
I’ll look into the eyes of buildings that will seem
So real yet hard to grasp,
Like an unfinished dream.
Let’s try again:
One evening, when I step
Onto the floating island of my past,
So infinite and yet confined,
Packed tightly in the nutshell of my head,
Will I be home at last?
Will I be whole at last?
Let’s try again:
If I could choose
Of all the places that my memory holds,
Where would I go?
I know:
The sprawl
Of the old park where I once learned
To find birds’ nests and mushrooms under trees
And where, on a hidden path,
A sculpture of a giant’s head
Teased me with mysteries.
I think this time I got it right:
When I am old and when my head is light,
I’ll dream myself next to the giant’s face
Half-buried in the middle of the path.
Once there,
I will remove, as one takes off a robe,
The layers of years and skin
And will emerge
Among soft shades of leaves, a child again,
Ready to soak in the gentle sun,
Forgetting what my older self has done.
The journey’s over. I’ll stay there,
Alone,
Letting warm breeze play with my hair.
No, this is not the right word.
“Returning”
Means coming to a place where I once was.
But it does not exist because
My memory has turned it into rain.
Let’s try again:
One morning, when I walk
Along the streets that bear deceptively familiar names,
Some even hiding echoes of my childhood games,
I’ll look into the eyes of buildings that will seem
So real yet hard to grasp,
Like an unfinished dream.
Let’s try again:
One evening, when I step
Onto the floating island of my past,
So infinite and yet confined,
Packed tightly in the nutshell of my head,
Will I be home at last?
Will I be whole at last?
Let’s try again:
If I could choose
Of all the places that my memory holds,
Where would I go?
I know:
The sprawl
Of the old park where I once learned
To find birds’ nests and mushrooms under trees
And where, on a hidden path,
A sculpture of a giant’s head
Teased me with mysteries.
I think this time I got it right:
When I am old and when my head is light,
I’ll dream myself next to the giant’s face
Half-buried in the middle of the path.
Once there,
I will remove, as one takes off a robe,
The layers of years and skin
And will emerge
Among soft shades of leaves, a child again,
Ready to soak in the gentle sun,
Forgetting what my older self has done.
The journey’s over. I’ll stay there,
Alone,
Letting warm breeze play with my hair.
*Learn about the background of the poem on my blog or on Medium.
**Go to the list of all poems in English.
***See a quote below.
**Go to the list of all poems in English.
***See a quote below.
