NOSTALGIA’S CHILD Pierced by the fresh, the old gold inside turns to dust Fresh sounds sound like noise from a damaged radio Murder, victory, conquests, evolution Love, power, revolution… All algebra to my dyslexia New tastes tinge the soft tongue Bring forth a liquid torrent from the drying eyes Touched by new flames, I shrink like burnt paper Retreating to the cold comfort of nostalgia’s cave Cave of visions – broken mirrors – some bite, some excite But the pain of stepping on them, I recognize A medley of sunken sounds Old songs with new meanings Old poems smell as fresh as dew Broken words fall from a string of meanings I scurry after them like a bounty hunter Afraid of losing the map to my treasure Scared they too might desert me like my 4’am dreams Memories wash me like hot water from a geyser I am building a tomb: Of unripened truths, baked myths and nascent mysteries Pray, when finally exhumed I am taken there to be buried It shall be worthy of me And I of it….