Childhood

We frolicked, hide and seek before twilight stole our sight

The hairy village market was our maze, thick, tall and tangling

Over the hill that drowned our houses, we wheeled Bedford’s black 

Michelin was our favourite, big, bold and beautiful

Carefree, if the orb of fire high up smouldered our bare skin

Or the sky spat spittle unrestrained, mama would fry pancake.

Innocence

We embraced the burning lamp

When grandma told us the wicked faded away quick

We believed the fairy tales, no willing suspension of disbelief 

Moral lessons were opiates that suppressed the beast within

As for the luminous shoes we wore to church on Sunday

They sang each step of the rugged way, Clementine

Experience

The wicked taunted us with life

Like fish dancing to the curl of the restless stream

We followed the wind of grandpa’s flute

To the hidden whiff that fed our souls with fresh air in March

Papa’s coins we took and the white lies we spewed

Stuck to our wavy imagination, indelible stains

And the tick-tock never halted

Till the childhood was no more than

A memory that tortured us with nostalgia.

Photo by Seth Doyle