A dark poem about sinister childhood memories, by Gopal, exclusively for Different Truths
Today I summon all those sinister, childhood shadows inside my dark room, my long memory laboratories, they follow me everywhere, humming calendar songs, I wash and rinse them, split them with a broad sword, peel them with a butcher’s knife. I have to tell my unfinished story to the children, of chaotic time, of two poles of loss bringing the long scars down the years to me, piles of debris hide the uncremated bodies, times converge into a flashpoint, into a crimson river. When old world is dying, I still search something transcendent in the balance of blame and guilt, for the self-appointed heroes or the plot spoilers, between the blood-stained walls, the streetlights even now quiver in contours of the yellow leaves.
Visual by Different Truths