The Secret Visit Of The Old Self... Poem by RIC BASTASA

i cannot leave
the point of my origin
the place and person
that you want me
to erase like a bad
memory of my
youth

i compromise leaving it
and think of another
the one that you always
speak about

days, years, until i have
seen my white hair
and felt the tiredness of
my arms

but i shall return to it
again
for it is my home
i should have told you
that without it
and without you knowing it
i could not be here
with you