I went to my old home.

There were new pictures on the walls
No books on the shelves
It was the same
But different.

My room was still a bedroom
Same floor
Fancy bed
This person didn’t use
A mosquito net.

I wandered through
Kitchen to dining
Dining to sala
Sala to my parents bedroom.

Why was I here again?
I can’t remember.
I forgot.
I forget a lot.

For nostalgia?
It all looked the same
But different.

A tear dropped.
I was crying?
I laughed.
It makes no sense.
Why would I even care?

I smiled through the tears?
Maybe I grimaced.
I passed a mirror.

Maybe old homes haunt you.
That would be strange.
Wasn’t I to be the haunt


P#1 Blank

I stare.

It’s blank.

I stare some more.

Still blank.

My hand moves.

(Is it having a thought I don’t have?)

It stiffens. Stops.

False alarm.

I return to the glaring whiteness.

We stare at each other.

Minutes pass.




Still blank.

I think I can see the future! In three hours time . . . it will be . . .





Still blank.

(Sigh . . . ) This damn page . . .


I sleep.