The Old World

Bring us they old stories in our past
The old books of magic and travel,
Characters of mischief, characters of travel
Of old sulemani cap, and of old “zanbeel”
Disappear in them, we in that old zanbeel
All that is gold and silver and us the young
Disappear in them, us and our moments
In them, we the children and our lives
As our thoughts fold into ink and paper
Of famous thoughts and those hands
That created and those mind that brought
A world for us, a world for you, when young

In those words, as we travel far
In long winter nights and summer days
In them, with us, at times we forget
In them, our forms and desires, all
Of our creation and all of what given
In emergence, the characters of our own
In moments of time, in absent clocks
These words of gold we often have worn
From those books, our lives and moments
In suspense and in action; through surprises
Unheard and unseen, as our moments grew
To recount these old years of fame

In them, the stories of valor and mischief
As we travelled far to lands, in no maps
Only in our minds they exists, the characters
In lands with no maps, in minds still alive
The old aroma and its perfumed gardens
Of all that happened, of all that remained
Alive and kicking, their tricks and tales

It’s not the time, that has changed,
It’s us, forgetful of this old world
In us, hidden in our minds, deposits
Of this old world, every now & then
Cometh this tide, to meet old friends
The forgotten shores, the forgotten dreams
A gaze away from our current times
This fabrication of mind in this old world.

Kashkin