So, this is another poem about us?
Memories question me
with a toothless smile.
For so many times
What could you write about us?
Can't you just take a walk or something?
Instead of drawing up connections
between your past and our present?
You don't let us ferment to strength.
Always cautious, you have to step in
and sap the energy out of us.
Lay things straight and be a spoilsport.
The other day you pulled up a memory
of flying a kite for the first time?
Was that really necessary?
You tend to agree that nothing comes out
of such inane remembrances.
But still you bind yourself to them
like a ship to water.
And how foolish you are to poise
yesterday's joy against today's sadness.
Should you be informed again and again
that yesterday has only an antique value.
An invalid coin not fit for circulation.
The geometry and composition of today's things
are different and seems very clear
you are not ready yet.