Surely there must be a way
To bury yesterday in yesterday
To visit its daily tombstone
Every supressed grunt and moan
Yet yesterday resurfaces
From the depth with a purpose
To grind, to remind or to refine
Who's able to define?
Images maintain their allure
That moment in time when one is sure
Posterity will serve the future
And to prosper doesn't mean to butcher
What was once yesterday fun and games
Became memory's claims to blames
The mind and the soul, to and fro, soothes
Which one to the other loses?
So yesterday still lives with malice
A hypocrisy that lives in mind's palace
That rules heart into needy permission
And the busy body into submission
Need someone to study yesteryears
And say they were buried with their fears
But yesterday seems so close by
Moist traces of rain after the street was dry
So burial is in the will but memory fails
To remember days of fairy tales
When the only worth memory
Was love. A mystery. A remedy. A medley.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem