There used to be
A jasmine shrub
That scented my neighbourhood
In the month of September.
I remember
Not being keen
of the way they smelt.
But.
Oh boy! They were
A serene September sight.
Something that made
September, "September" for me.
Like the torrential July rain.
Or the storms of November.
I,
tend to connect things.
Living to non-living.
Non-living to words.
Things I love - Make them
into one package,
A single unit.
And now,
When I experience these things,
Like... The coffee,
neither Bru nor
Made with mum's love...
I
feel sad. Unhappy.
But I don't long for them.
For I know
That it rains torrentially in July,
Thunderstorms in November
And My mum still brews coffee
back home on Sundays.
But.
There are just two things.
Two things I long for...
Because I know
I Won't exactly experience them again.
I long
For the jasmine shrub.
the strolls with a few people;
Who, like those September jasmines,
are sweet serene souls.
YOU ARE READING
Hiraeth
PoetryWe leave a part of us every time we move forward in life, and sometimes, we turn back and look at those aged memories and long for them. Here is an ode to the memories lost, memories that are now a hiraeth, a homesickness.
