Lost and found,
Who thought it still exists?
A place of treasure and fortune,
Where lost things are found
Where my memories lay restless
Like my thoughtful mind
As I sit in a chair-and stand up
And sit again-and stand again
And start pacing aimlessly
darting across the room
Like my thoughts would
Across a void dark space.
Nostalgia-friend or foe,
Still trying to discern
Which one would it be.
I think of the good, bad, nice,
sweet-and bitter moments.
Gathered, like my memories
Packed like clothes in a suitcase
And from scruffy folding,
their texture is wrinkled
Like the skin of an old man.
I rummage through-searching
looking and hoping and wishing and praying
to find a perfect memory,
But all I stumble on,
Are moments I try to forget,
Memories of pain, and suffering
The pain of being lost-
and not knowing where you belong.
The pain of being selfless,
for people who never cared.
But with these thoughts, I gather myself
Questioning my thought-ridden mind.
Those that see me, think, a fool,
A madman who converses with himself,
But I had reasons.
Aha-I exclaim after finding the 'one'
I touch it delicately-but "don't **** it"
A voice whispers,
"Don't hold it by the head"
As the Ndebele proverb says,
'Inhlwa ayibanjwa ngekhanda'
A termite should not be held by its head
But what's that... Where... Too late, it's gone, lost,
Like a beautiful memory that slips my mind
each time I get distracted.
