In Search of Relics

I try to recall
what it felt like
when words fell into place
like a complex Jigsaw puzzle
solved sleepwalking

Memories are always tinted –
sepia or monochrome.
colors of failure, and shades
of blemishes, do not survive,
mercifully, beyond a point

The long, slow seductions
the anxieties, the heartbreaks
the dread, the shame
all lay buried, and forgotten
covered in slimy moss
in closed, dark attics

Yet the absence hurts the eyes
with its blinding glare …
I start to grope in the dark
and hold onto relics
try to snatch them out
severing their roots
and mine, too

When even the relics bleed
I stop sleepwalking
and see the destruction,
of the reckless, and blind fury
I replant them into past
and take a vow of relearning
the art of seduction