In life’s transits we’re merely passengers.
As I glance upon the streaming strangers,
I feel a certain familiarity
There’s strange kinship in the locality.
I take the same spot I took at sixteen,
I’m seated at the same station again.
I can’t move forward with my travels blind,
Flash backs of my past trips rush in my mind.
There are story-filled structures in the streets
We are commuters to life’s immense fleets.
I breath the same air I breathed at thirteen.
I’m home to the place of my youth again.
‘Tis a breath of fresh air ro be around kids, especially around my nephews and nieces. I enjoyed their company during my recent home-coming. Watching them is like seeing fragments of my reflections strewn in their eyes. I see myself in them, I see strangely familiar sounds in their voices and laughter, being with them is experiencing Déjà vu as I watch their every moves. A piece of me is somewhere in their genes, each of them are my little version ~ we are connected in that way.
It is fun to see familiar moves and be reminded of how I used to be when I was their age. My eldest niece is 18 and the youngest is 5. I cherish their company, it was like watching myself from age 5 to 18, like when we were together during mealtimes, or during games, in our chats, telling stories, laughing, roaming around, seeing things or even just in simple exchanges of smiles.
Child Once, Too
By: Jesus B. Jamora, 2005
Let the child run free, uphills or down plains
Like a gazelle that gallops in prairies.
Let him swim in lakes, bathe in rains
And coquette like the mystical fairies.
Censor him not for he is free from stains
Trust not the filthy mind of the gentries.
Free the child from the restraining chains
And from the customs’ narrow bounderies.
Let him be for his generations’ gains ~
Allow the children to weave their stories.
For Writers Island: “Déjà vu”