Rickety armchair behind cotton curtains
Shroud windows that open to concrete
The golden swirls in my china teacup
Also arch over the streets.
A framed photograph lies beside:
It speaks of happier memories
The smiles of yesterday beckon me
To relive childhood fantasies.
The rhythmic hum of the city
Seems a slight mockery to that quiet
Emotion replaces usual nonchalance
Now nostalgia in glee wreaks a riot.
Resurrected faithfully every night
In bittersweet rainbow tinted dreams
The present is too fast the part unhurried
Or so, in my imagination, it seems.
This ink will fade and paper will tear
But the words of mine will stay alive
That still reflect my foolish thoughts
Which nevertheless help me survive.