in the passage of time
there have been many exchanges
of letters and postcards,
gifts and conversations
till late into the nights and
till the dawns call it a day
we wrote of the Black Bird or
the Yellow Bird
of which age has not permitted me
a vivid image of them both
we wrote of the English Patient,
the French Patient, the Swan Feather,
and many other objects of our focus
carry a symbolic element
of the ‘self’ the resides beyond the daily grind
or should I say
the extension of the ‘self’ that stretches from reality to fantasy
and memory is one of such content
memory cannot and will not
exist in the absence of time
and time is a scale
that finds itself
anchored on the rising and the setting of the stars
with the rising and falling
memory evolves into new meanings
it is able to reach into the inner recesses of the past
although the past does not evolve and
it cannot evolve
memory continues to do so
for one simple reason:
the present
is capable of shedding light
into the past
hence between life and death
time finds its meaning
and such meaning is often registered or lost
in a stoic drift or confusion between
memories, dreams and reality
based on the correspondence with a friend in Toronto between 1998 and 2000
