The past was regret.
The future, a promise never seen.
Between them stood a tunnel,
tempting those who wished to rewrite what time had already written.
It offered forgotten smiles,
lost voices,
and dreams buried beneath sorrow.
Yet every step within its silence
asked for a piece of the life still waiting outside.
Time was never its victim…
you were.
Each heartbeat traded
for another chance at yesterday.
Pain may shape us.
Guilt may follow us.
Regret may whisper our names.
But the past is a place to remember,
not a home to return to.
For no tunnel can heal
what acceptance alone must mend.
It can only ask
how much of tomorrow
you are willing to surrender
for a yesterday that will never truly be yours again.
The tunnel was never a gate.
It was a choice.
To lose yourself chasing echoes,
or to carry your scars
and walk toward the light waiting ahead.
Ryan found himself living in the past
At eighty, how much longer would he last
Then Ryan met some pixies
Whisked him off to the sixties
Where old Ryan spent his time passing gas
Past all points Pacific
Past the Prime Meridian
Past all points specific
Into the vast obsidian
Past all points of hindsight
Past the depth of baited breath
Past all points of twilight
Into the realm of waiting death
It’s raining all night, and I’m sleepless
Each random thought carries me through
This habit to think is ridiculous
Except when I’m thinking of you
Hope you would approve my idea
I’ve no desire to celebrate
The date of upcoming New Year
The symbol of time that can’t wait
Champagne and that fabulous salad
We can go without easily
The spruce with the shimmering garland
Oh dear, it’s too much for me
I paid off a many New Years
Each one was no better than old
I’ve watched the sunrise over hills
I’ve lived up a tale no one told
So why not remain in the past
To drown in your eyes with the sun
That jumped like a ball between us
When we were alive, having fun.
I feel you near even when you're not here,
even when your face no longer lingers in my head,
when the wind no longer carries your scent,
and my body starts forgetting the feel
of your featherlight touch.
I feel your presence every single minute,
even your soft voice whispering in my ear.
I remember your smile,
the one that used to melt my heart,
and even your words that cut deep
and left a scar.
Yet I also remember the way
you used to gaze into my eyes,
as if I meant the world to you.
I remember how those glances
always made me fall in love with you,
and how, every single day,
I kept losing a little piece of you.
Sail away with me, my darling, to distant lands
leave the past behind us while we still can
Dare it to catch us, ever onward sail
this small vessel ~ our everlasting jail
Beautiful Hungarian Lady
Do you remember that young guy?
You know my love, it's me
A rocker boy from the last desk,
in the classroom
I just watched you, just watched you
You, Eve, the amazing teacher
My love, I still loving you
I can't forget you, even though you far away
Yes, in the time, in the past
and in the real life
You live in Hungary, I live in England
Distance, distance, distance…
It's very bad, I am suffering a lot
Just feel it, my beautiful teacher
Dame, Queen, woman, the perfect
I love you, keep it in mind
I am always waiting for you
Don't be passive, open your heart
Our love is more than…
Our love is more than…
The Taj Mahal
History is rewritten every day
The past reinterpreted in the present’s way
Time sits upon both of my shoulders with
white hands ticking promises right, opposite
red numerals counting down the left. Tock.
In this aging valley, this crevice dug by ambiguous stretches,
seconds trickle like months as years can flush like minutes.
An indecisive pendulum never makes a full rotation.
Main tod leti agar tu gulab hota ??
Main arpan kar deti khudko ,
aagar tu mera hota ??
Jo sath rehena ka wada kiya tha tune, kash woh nibha diya hota??
Kash woh sache pyar ka dekha ,
thoda oor kar diya hota ?
Tera jane ke baad jo tu aapne yaad chod gaya ,
kash woh aapne sath le gaya hota ??
Aagar us din tu mujhe yu chhodke na gaya hota,
toh aaj mera hat tera hato main hota??
Aaj bhi aagar koi tujh jesa dekh jata hai mujhe ,
toh may sochti hu ki kash woh tu hota ??
Main aaj bhi tera galat shikwe bhula du
aagar tu mera pass wapas aaya hota ??
Walking with you,
your hand in mine
I never thought a feeling
so warm
could fade with time.
It started with one day,
then two,
a week,
then a month,
until yesterday
became another door
that became locked
There were days
filled with your hugs,
with love that felt endless,
now buried somewhere
beneath the muffled sound
of my own cries.
There were words
I needed to hear
from your heart,
words I waited for,
words that never came
And left me in pain
Every day I look back
and try to remember
what we were.
The present always finds me
It pulls me away
from the memories
I keep reaching for,
leaving me clinging
to fragments of the past
small pieces
of what once was,
pieces I didn't know were disappearing
until they were gone.
Stolen from me
one by one,
until all I could hold
was the memory
of being held.
An empty chair kept moving closer
each time I moved it somewhere I couldn't see.
I dragged the chair into the corner,
but found it beside me the next morning.
I blamed the wind, the floor, the house,
anything I could blame instead.
Some things follow you without moving;
some things wait without being asked.
One night, I turned the chair around
and found old marks carved into the wood.
I didn't remember putting them there,
but I knew I'd seen them before.
So I carried the chair outside
and set it down where the grass was tall.
For once, it stayed where I left it.
That night… I didn't bring it back.
I thought the chair was following me.
It wasn't. I was the one bringing it with me.
You may find it’s all been said
What you mean to say
But it sounds not too bad
In your own sweet way
You may look out with no aim
Scanning the familiar view
But it isn’t quite the same
For today the morning dew
Burns the leaf it occupies
With the dazzling sun
Welcome to the silent cries
As if you are young
But not near that comprehensive
As the youngsters are
Maybe little over-pensive
With your mind too far
From the problems of today
Too close to the past
Saying what you have to say
Once again too fast..
a bow of twine gathers
sepia envelopes and old letters~
the past folded small
At a history museum,
Main Street, Milford, in Pa.,
Is a giant flag with blood,
That may be Lincoln’s, on display.
Aside from that, ephemera
And lots of local lore
Wait for patrons who are visiting
To take time to explore.
I marveled at the hand-sewn quilts,
Their stitches small and neat,
And the menus from hotels, where lunch
Was forty cents to eat.
A woven cradle, clothes and hats,
Old irons, plus the boards,
And uniforms from soldiers
Were just some of the rewards
For visiting a building
Which preserves life in the past.
Who knows how long collections,
Like this treasure trove, may last?
I must admit, though, that what I
Liked best that I did see
Was the dog of the director,
Just as friendly as could be.
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