To melt together

Years which trickling melt together

as a tap, that’s never closed

I write the words through the pipe,

flowing or faltering they babble down

and tell of things when I was little,

driving on a bicycle to big,

falling and ripping my knees open,

hiding silently under the table

letting myself disappear,

seeing my mother getting desperate

when she fruitless searches for me,

time rides like a train,

with the highest velocity he glides

my seasons nearer to me,

of setting steps as a child, entering puberty

and making love in the spring,

experiencing myself what I never

believed from my parents,

the rain and the drip of getting older,

and later, as I hope with some delay,

coming to the last station,

images are sliding, words melt together,

years are growing grey, behind me are the fields

that are ploughed, some of them still undeveloped,

I’m rather happy, but also a little sad

for what I, later on, will have to leave behind.

© Rudi J.P. Lejaeghere

11/12/2015