By Suwen Liew
Obelisks of time.
Grand temples to be tampered with,
inscribed into fading monoliths.
Conjoined with a hidden history.
Recollections and myths, scripts to consolidate.
Papyrus scrolls for skin,
And old ink for hieroglyphs
-beginning to rub away.
Away from reality and recollection.
Days go by like blank canvases and white light.
Like light watercolours of remembrance,
Subtle but secretive,
blending and bending with consciousness
in still life.
Droplets of memory-
Bitter-sweet but savoury.
A fault in the void.
A taunting vacancy that deprives me,
Of puzzle pieces with ends that don’t fit,
Misplaced, lost in transit.
Buried in my sarcophagus, with treasures that I can no longer keep.
Faces, words, identity, and
People I want to miss-
who no longer exist.
I’m losing memory,
My obelisk of time.
My grand temples enshrined under a mist,
Inscribed into blank monoliths.
Conjoined with nothing but history.
I have become a memory.