Why am I enamoured with the past?
Even though I always think of the future
The past in objects, pictures, melodies and words
Fly through my imagination like birds
It’s strange that I find myself so enchanted with eras gone by
And it’s a shame that I have not been able to let go my history
There is a look in her eyes, the fading woman in the vintage photograph
I’m holding
Her eyes are like mine, full of expressions
So much emotion, that her extravagance can’t hide her disdain
They are lined with the blackest liner
Just like my eyes
She is wearing a smile like a jewel
And even that can’t hide her pain
Her dress flows with the tassels
Of the new found freedom in fashion
The newest piece of haute couture
But her disillusionment is clear as day
perhaps she was a debutante like Daisy
Or a flapper maybe
Or someone else real
But that world is a fairy-tale to me
She doesn’t exist in her sadness, does she?
Only in her glamour
It’s funny how that’s all we capture
The faint beauty of the rapture
I’m sure her heart broke like a million little stars
I’m sure she felt lonely
I’m certain she broke apart
time and time again
But as I look at her picture
She is just a mirage
And me I’m looking at her sepia toned photograph
Thinking to myself
I wish I was there
Because I feel out of place here
And once more I will tell myself
She probably felt the same way
Each and every day
I have the freedom to say this today
Because of the tears she cried yesterday.
And yet I’m enamoured with her past
And haunted by mine
Maybe now is the time
to fade the past like her photograph
And finally erase it from my mind.
-Anshudha Garimella