As a young child
We smile in pictures,
Unknowing that this smile
Will soon be a memory.
We grope in darkness
And laugh at the sight
Of our mother’s shadow.
We taste tears and candies,
And touch our brothers’ faces.
Growing, we blow candles in our cakes
The way we blow the years away.
In split seconds, the flame
Turns into incense smoke --
That fast.
We learn to speak
But not communicate.
We learn to walk
Yet not go places.
We learn to dance on dining tables
Only to realize
We cannot be dancers
Because there is so much to learn –
The steps, timing, and grace.
Until we grow old
By blowing the candles in our cakes.
Every shot
And flash of camera
Leave a mark in our faces.
There is nothing left to do
But chew betel nuts,
Smoke pipes,
And sweep away the fallen leaves
And petals of flowers
Gathering in the forsaken backyard –
Traces of our forgotten youth.
