Return of a Lost Soul

My tongue chains me
I return, after a generation, to you.
I am at the end of my tether.
Aspirations for you, and many other things of life
unassuaged –
I falter, stumble.

Speak a tired language wrenched from its slumber,
Yet, my teeth, palate, lips still new.

…And so, it eventually happened, I made myself an
expert in farewells.
An unexpected november shut a door in my face,
and opened another, floating like a safe planet near
me.
…I stood there, that day, forty years taller,
With the dust of unlettered years, to celebrate
something unperishable
About you and me…as I grasped your hand for the
first and last time
in a rainbow of touch…

…Yet, today I speak nothing but good…
We may not have shared our childhoods and succulent
folklores,
You may not feel today my unruly hair silenced by
pins…
We may not have squatted together on fabulous haunches
of the Taj Mahal,

Yet, when time unfurls you and me like a peal of
balls,
We will feel how our flesh and bone will struck…
maybe, on a long awaited touchwood day…
When relations will never agan stand like exclamation
points…

I shall follow, and after me my unborn daughter,
through the eye
Of this needle of forgetfulness.

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