Are they lost? The moon I once saw from a bus on my way home
peeping through the buildings,
the cat leaping across
from one building to the next as I sat there
taking an exam.
That old phone in my grandparents home
I dialled for the police and then
waited in fear.

Fear was then still formless, possessing things in convenience
Dolls, wind, boogies, clowns, policemen on the streets
School teachers and homework.
How I liked the neighbour downstair's sunflowers
and killed them when I kept pouring and pouring
from above
And guilt in its intensity
never could understand why
I felt bad, just did.

Is it now gone? That fish pond I once loved
Queueing every recess to feed
perhaps they are gone now
Trophies I could have won, lies I told or did not.
friends I have found and forgotten
Countless bags I have left on the streets
remembering later, much later

How the world glowed with curiousity
everything was wonderful, terrifying
a mystery
I never tried to solve
Gone. But this is new.
This remembering. Salvaging of the fragments of colours
To ponder over. Nostalgia like Michael Jackson's song,
not of the past.
Only of this search to put back into some whole. These things
fallen apart
washed to foreign lands
picked up by others as some new toy
or locked in some box
covered with dust next to the dead moth
waiting for one to stumble upon them
once again like magic.