The past is another country

The past is another country,

Of colourful sights,

And neon lights.

And people who used to be,

Stalwarts of my life,

Exist still in this country.

 

The past keeps luring me,

Back from my present.

I keep losing myself in serene bliss,

And contended reverie.

 

Yes it is an escape from the present,

But we all seek these escapes.

Though not all pasts are the islands,

One would want to escape to,

I keep longing to escape to mine.

 

As soon as my eyes close,

My mind unlocks the secret door,

That takes me back.

 

But it is not just to escape the present,

That I keep going back,

It is to find the strength to live in the present.

 

The present is often a stifling reality,

We need a breath of fresh air,

Of hope.

And this is what this door from the past lets in,

A breath of fresh air.

 

The past is indeed another country,

A country that is no more.

But a country that still defines who we are,

And gives us the will to go on living.

 

In the present day country of our present day selves,

The past is another country.