Throwback Poem by Farah Taskin

Is the colour of the past black and white

A heavy skepticism weighs against these words

Every memory wears its original colours

The vibrant hues of the yesterdays wake at the slightest whisper

I have a wonderful childhood story, just like Laura Ingalls Wilder

My past has been entirely filled with happiness and love

The streets are also silent storytellers

The streets come to an end, but the memories never do

As futures grow old, they become memories, just like the past

And time plays its music like this: ticking clocks, rushing rivers and beating hearts