They keep coming back…
When you come to memory…

They keep coming back…
The efforts so futile…
The messages so suppressed…
The reactions so bleak…
The cries so muzzled…

They keep coming back…
The lane so lonely…
The slumber so heady…
The evenings so poor…
Yet the love so fulfilling…

They keep coming back…
The trip to the sea…
The soul of some place…
The moments of bliss…
The visits to the temple…

They keep coming back….
The shimmering lake….
The countless cups of tea….
The smell of holy incense…
The road along the golden river…

They keep coming back…
The approach so innocent…
The messages so appealing…
The efforts so sincere…
Yet the loss so grievous…

They keep coming back…
The stairs so high…
The prayers so holy…
The champion so heroic…
The schoolgirl so coy…

When you come to memory…
They always come back…

The point is… I coming back!
To home I called tumblarity

I keep coming back…
When you come to memory…

And now I try to come back
There’s nothing I hate

Make me drown in the river of tears that I’ve cried over you.
All the memories I have of you are of you walking out on me.

came from the tree-filled window. “You did good.”
We laid crisp sheets we would inaugurate

our road-worn, weary selves.
Now, we’ve a pause
in a year we wouldn’t have wagered on.

elsewhere, unmarked otherwise
while you stood behind me in the midday heat.
Somnolent shudders marked us

I went away… And I thought I never coming back