Unearthing Yesterday
The scent of rain on hot asphalt,
unearths a ghost of summers past.
Barefoot on sun-baked concrete,
a phantom echo of laughter
bounces off brick walls that no longer stand.
A melody drifts from a distant radio,
a tune I haven't heard in years,
and suddenly I'm sixteen again,
awkward and full of yearning,
leaning against a chain-link fence,
watching the world unfold like a hesitant flower.
The faces flicker,
imperfectly recalled,
etched with the sharp lines of time's passage,
some vanished entirely,
leaving only a hollow space
where their voices used to be.
It's not a sadness that consumes,
but a gentle tug,
a recognition of moments lived,
indelible imprints on the soul.
A bittersweet ache, this nostalgia,
a tender holding of what was,
knowing it can never truly be again,
yet grateful for the echoes
that still whisper in the quiet corners of my mind,
a reminder of the vibrant tapestry of then
woven into the fabric of now.
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Bernard F. Asuncion
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