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Monday, October 19, 2009

Ghosts in the Museum

I gave you this body, although I know
it's a place unsheltered from
the war of time; I opened up the doors
to this body to you, it's a museum, too,
and I showed you the ghosts that live there,
that travel through its great halls
haunting its history,

on public days sometimes
memories come to visit,
some in spirited talk, some with
a civilised air, some are impatient
children running exuberant, some are senior citizens
(with their discounted tickets),
some are just happy to be there,
some are just uncomfortable with the exhibits,
sitting uneasily on
hand carved seats,

for some it's a welcome refuge
from the ordinary, where they can soar
in the imaginary, but for all there comes a silence,
a distant corner deluged with shadows
that come out to stalk the walls
when the museum is emptied of its visitors,

and I showed you this
body emptied, yet filled, left alone
with its ancient vessels,
showcased clay jars and cases
that sit in an accumulation of dust,
as the past calls
to dream or contemplate
the incivility of time's fate,

and I walked with you, only you,
in the silence of this body,
and as I pointed out all its shadows
I asked if you'd stand guard
by its public doors, I showed you, only you,
this private side of the body,
a silent museum filled with dusty
floors, wondering if you'd still
have the courage to
chase its ghosts with me,

I gave you this body, although I know
it's a place of passing beauty,
because even in its most silent
and darkest corner, you'd have the love
to stand shoulder to shoulder and walk with me
through the great hallways,
where ghosts once travelled
haunting its history.

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