I keep looking inward
To find
My wood of diverged roads;
The travelled by
And the not,
And the difference.

I search for a story,
The story,
A poem to write;
To be in, to come from.
A song to sing.

Something my father did,
Something my mother said.

I dig through memories of Iba
Sand and laugh. and mud,
And mosquitoes and boiling rings
And wells and rabid dogs
And public school
And private joys.

And later:
Private school
And public angst
And fences,
And fine things. And Failures.

How my father wept
When my mother slept.

Nostalgia is a bottomless pit;
But boy, is it sweet,
And bitter too,
And bitter too.


7 thoughts on “Looking

  1. Pingback: ALL THE MANY THINGS – Adeolakiitan

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