zondag 13 december 2015

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


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