I carry within me
this quaint feeling one many
an old soul and poet can attest;
That I was here before
I was here
when the light and sparks of time
from the warmth of the fire
between us, were fonder
In those years I swear
I danced, I swear
I laughed, cried
and shared heartily in the oasis
of life\'s innocence
and simplicity
Little much more did I need
in those times
We had not much
Needed not much
comrades I ran the race with
whose faces are fragments of a past
of sheer living beneath the stars
when hearts clad in minimal disguise
clamored for ideals
and what little contentment
and peace attainable
that mattered enough, then
I was here before
when nobilities were true
in art, in affection
in integrity, in humanity, in life
I know I was here before
when brotherhood and sisterhood
were as genuine
as the vanguard microphones, cursive
handwritings and paint colored hands
whose virtues toppled many walls
built to class, and divide
I know my postcard sits as a footprint
on history\'s unwavering memory
that I was here before, and maybe
just maybe, that is why
water under bridges I don\'t
recognize this world much
and remain removed
and unmoved till our pulse recommits
the dreams of its inexhaustible
nostalgic rebirth, stone
against truncheon