Tabula Rasa, Every Day

My parents immigrated to Canada from Afghanistan. This poem is for them and the family members I wish I could have met.

lost in reverie

in events once assumed to be memories

but in truth have been confabulated

to keep clandestine

            the anger

            the pain

under the crimson Afghan rug, hand-made 

    by parched hands in a

            hungry, war-enraged land

they rest, those memories

 

a new life, they trust they have endowed us

(turned into gods, have they?)

but the new world 

is still haunted by the old,

and life afresh will never begin 

when blood has pattered like rain

I must enshrine them within my mind

I must. I must.  

but I must move on as well

I must. I must. 

if I wish to ever live

and so, choice made

(while tears fall,

while the dead wail)

my mind turns into a blank slate

tabula rasa, every day

Reviews

[Saifer]

Writing poems isn't exactly my Forté, but I have read many. I can say that I appreciate the color of your work. I believe it really captures the meaning of Tabula Rasa. To force oneself to clean out all the malice and bitterness within was never meant to be an easy task, and I think you did a very good job portraying that.

[Aisha Mnd]

Thank you for the lovely and well-written review. The notion of "Tabula Rasa" came to me at the very end; in the previous edition of this poem it hadn't been included. And then, not before long, the poem's title and main message was "Tabula Rasa". Funny how one word can change a written work's whole theme. Anyhow, once again, thank you for the review - most appreciated.