Straight out of a Kundera novel:
Some kind of national Alzheimer's.
It's not so much the astronomical lies,
But the subtle erosion of the facts.
Don't recall, didn't record,
What remains?
Repeat.
The past is a desert that blooms only in our mind.
Yet the arid mentality preserves everything.
And recent souvenirs gather dust.
Could we sweep the desert with those telescopes?
Altered surnames
Under the carpet
Don't remind us, you're holding us back.
Don't dig up the past, the builder said to the archaeologist.
Don't pick at those scabs, the doctor said to the patient.
Don't stir things up, said the sour cream to the spilt milk.
Talk about a social canyon, a mental rift,
When you walk along the same streets as your torturers,
And women still search for fragments of their sons -
buried hastily like pre-hispanic traditions.
Native arts and human rights hidden away in museums
along with memory itself.
Skeletons of white stardust interred below our sight.
We're busy papering over cracks, hiding from the stargaze.
They're gravedigging for truth.
The bonds that tie us to the past are tough but we can't see them,
like cords that hold your hands behind your back.
Closets full of secrets and unanswered questions.
Haunted to the bone by history.
What might turn up, what might turn out?
In the midden of Pisagua.
Can such wounds be reconciled? Demanding justice, can we forgive?
Witnesses soon will pass away,
and perception itself is as ephemeral as a passing wave.
Will the past ever rest in peace?
You walked past my wave,
And then turned at my touch.
You dropped your things; nervous, on edge.
"You're the same", I thought, and smiled,
As I watched your flustering shame,
As I took in your eyes once again.
The air was dull and cold, a winter's day.
We hugged; you felt familiar,
So slight and yet so real.
Warm, beloved, delicate, I pulled you close.
How has it been so long?
With instant growing feeling, we set off together,
Catching threads of life between us,
Cascades of joy undammed.
So much to say, we talked at pace
Without fear of silence.
Different journeys of the heart,
The distance we had to cover,
Yet conversation flows like milk.
Nothing is small talk, nothing hidden.
We cleared up hazy memories,
Reeling in the years gone by.
A night in London somewhere.
The subject turns to old letters kept, and we
Check the bonds have been preserved.
A stable pact, our common mischief.
We laugh at old Blur lyrics, sing some Frank Black.
Eddies of feeling stir with new vigour.
We soon decide to drink all day.
Our eyes start to linger, I swim in your gaze.
You tell me not to leave,
But you know I could never do that,
Not for any duty.
An old hook, a new line.
Once we paddled upstream, not quite innocent,
But so much river has flowed since then.
Now we play in stronger currents.
The elation surges, now I feel it again
This fervent spring stoppled for too long.
"So, what about that desert island, huh?"
**
But no, we can't. We have to stop.
Things aren't the same. We need to think.
Look away or I'll look back.
If you moan like that I won't forget it.
I'll tell you how.
Not here, not now. Another world.
But this is it. The present chance.
This the absolute, the realest thing,
Undiluted by time.
The mind swirling through sensual motion
And raging ardour, pulsing fast.
**
Suddenly, the spell was broken,
The tractor beam switched off.
My mind tried to collect itself,
From where it had been floating, triumphant.
The pangs begin.
You're not mine.
"You're the same", I thought, and wondered,
as I watched your flustering shame,
as I took in your eyes once again.
