Every day I see you down the street with not even a smile on your face. All I see is your weary body as you are walking. Your back is slowly but surely sagging from the heavyweight upon it.
You wear that same shirt that was once white now it has yellow stains upon it from age. On the back of that shirt is some foreign language that you nor I can understand you can hardly make out that writing because it is faded with time.
You are so deep in thought that I wonder what you are thinking about. Your whole being is so steeped into that past that you cannot even get paroled from it. It feels like a death sentence.
Those footprints that you once etched in the sands are now gone never to be seen again. Even Mother Nature ridicules you because of the way you think.
You have become a prisoner unto yourself with those invisible shackles around you. You celebrate the past as if it is its birthday or Christmas.
You recall men of old and their heroic deeds but in truth, they don’t even know you. They are long-forgotten memories. Even their mortal bodies are no more skeletons they are like grains of sand that you can’t even count.
Even your family have deserted you because you preach the wrong gospel… You try to convince men about the past very few listen to you. Most of the time they have this very queer look on their faces and call you insane.
I am sure that love has spread its wings around you but you ignored it. You pour yourself a glass of wine that tastes bitter because it is mixed with the past.
Your soul is drowning in a river of an unwanted past you cannot see those tiny ripples that it makes because you are so blind to it.
Even man derides you and the way you think. When will you wake up and smell the glorious future? Even the overcrowded cemeteries don’t want you.
In a way, I admire your zeal and your stance that you take on the past but unfortunately, I do not live in the past. It is dead to me. Anyway, good luck to you may you find happiness somewhere.
