NOSTALGIA

The lips that lecture continues the ritual
Sacred i know and ceasing never
Her eyes missing her tool at times
To lock at my distant face
The pause in her chants
Pulls me from midair
Where my thoughts are floating
With no constraints

I stare at her enquiring face
And wonder whether
The quilt i had kept in my worn diary
At home, has borne her seven children
The oak of my dreams
Planted by my aging bearer
Has wilted its leaves or not
I know, my parched paper
Where i quote my chimes
Is waiting for the ink that tickles it to life
My parrot lives to voice my hopes
The cat must have died
I must offer my bouquets

I long to rush to my humble roof
Where my clock ticks yesterdays seconds
Pack my grief, joy and tears
And catch the next train home
I hear my incessant laughter
And the engine’s shrill whistle
But no, its the mechanical clank
Announcing an arrival
Of lectures new and nurtures fresh

The train i’m in is not late, i’m sure
Ill reach my nest in time for tea.

(Written during a boring second language class)