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Poem

Each sepia frame tells on old times,
Each face a name that wears a chime.


Lasting echoes from deep silence,
From times before, set countenance.


Flip through old stack of sepia prints,
Watch mind now snack on ancient tints.


Faces of yore hint of past times,
Sepia now stores a certain mime.


One by one float quaint former glaze,
Down life's rich moat swirls mental maze.


Old picture score where thoughts meet brief,
Indulge some more both joy and grief.


Memory cites in sepia tones,
Passage of rites now left alone.


Yet now and then, I sift to see
Feelings of when kin came to be.


I set aside this journey back,
Know time nor tide can bridge sad slack.


Our history is lost in mists,
So memory grabs random list.


A buried pile of kin and kind,
Here for a while, glimpses and finds.


Sepia colours in sultry glades,
Musky odours old prints now shade.


Happy and sad mix and mingle,
Stern faces glad in free stumble.


From time to time, I plough through piles,
Seek former chimes to court old smiles.




Leon Enriquez
31 May 2016
Singapore

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