aged reply


I don’t beg for gold no more
I beg only for the forgotten Old

Their toothless grins
and faces, weathered grim.

“Do you remember me?”

“Why no, I don’t remember me…”

I do not know who stares at me
from my bedroom door…

I do not know who seeks my
eyes in the mirror…

I do not know who waits for me
in the darkened corri-dors…

I do not know who has
crossed out my name
and penned in

<INSANE>/<INANE>

Why do children come
to hold my hand and smile?

Why do I string along
numbers just to dial?

“Hello, are you there?
Can you Help me?
I don’t know who I’m calling…”

Multicoloured pills
and purposeful spills
and
just much
too many
ills.

“Do you know who I am?”
“Why yes, of course”
“Why yes that’s who.”

Fight or Flight?
Fight or Fright?

“Why am I here?
Why am I here?”

Why you’re here
to stay.
You’re here to pray.
You’re here to spend
your weakening time
day by passing day.

and so….
I stay where
I am.

searching/seeking
for an answer
long left without reply

as to who and why
still am.

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One thought on “aged reply

  1. Pawan Hira says:

    Your first two lines are drawn with poignant emotions…and you flow with each line that carries an essence of exploring ten thousand sides of mind. You keep me quiet. You make me feel alive, and I embrace each story that comes through your ink, Q. Be blessed.

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