Take me back to a time.
When being good was as easy as breathing.
And my mama’s words resonated in me.
When her bidding was stronger than a belief.
Proud to be called clean, faithful, a follower of rules.
Take me back to Sunday school.
When I believed in forgiveness.
In King David after the transgressions.
Saul would become Paul.
And the past would be forgiven.
Early mornings, when I’d remove my socks and shoes.
To be equal to the other village kids.
When my lullaby was the thoughts of heaven.
And not finances, planning on how to break even.
Take me back to being what they called a junior youth.
Looking forward to a life of serving not mastering.
Living for Him not aspiring to attain.
Take me back to the Bible not the blogs.
To learning rather than just reading.
Take me back to the fairy tales.
To dreams grand and of sunsets.
When love was a gift and not an achievement.
And a source of never-ending happiness.
Not a path to probable pain.
Take me back to when today mattered.
To when the future was always bright.
Not a reflection of past mistakes.
Take me back to Celine.
To Luther Vandross and ᗅᗺᗷᗅ.
To staying alive and celebration time.
A fulfillment of the life that would be mine.
Take me back to hand sculpted gifts.
To names carved on trees and doodles on my books.
When the thought far outweighed the cost.
And the character way better than looks.
Take me back to primary school.
When affection made my heart skip not beat faster.
When I’d be transfixed in moments not lost in the next.
When what I felt was said and not lost in text.
Take me back to just being divine.
Before I let in the bandit and stole more hearts than one.
It’s been a while since I went out of line.
Lost the chance to enjoy the moment and ran after the fun.
Take me back to senseless writing.
To holding a pen and trying my best at cursive.
To when the ink was the blood from whence poured my soul.
And truth riddled every sentence.
Take me back to basic lexicon.
When being deep was not the goal but a happy coincidence.
To when morphemes and synonyms did no matter.
And rhyme came out as staccato as a stutter.
Take me back to real poetry.
When my life leaked with every phrase.
My thoughts and fantasies saturated every page.
This gift was not even recognised as one.
Take me back to grammatical errors.
To a period way before the nazi era.
So I can write away my troubles.
Let the paper fade away my pain.
Take me back to Wordsworth and Frost.
Before I end up on the road least taken like Poe.
Lost in my melancholic notes.
Of the writer I could have but never became.
Take me back to Shakespeare.
From thence I can find my path again.
Still a poet by any other right or how I write.
Immortalized in my own song of La “Wino”.
Take me back to singing and dancing.
To India Arie and Maxwell on a sunny afternoon.
To ill-fitting earphones and cassette tapes.
To bitter lemons without a tequila shot.
Take me back to addition and subtraction.
Not regression and plans for my progression.
To learning how to draw, no matter how badly.
Rather than designing a dream house in every reverie.
Take me back to freedom.
To aspiring to be President.
Proudly sitting at the head of the class.
Rather than murmuring at the back row.
Take me back to undefined genius.
Rejoicing in completion rather than competition.
To figuring things out not judging them.
To creating and not just utilising.
Take me back to long walks not quick rides.
To sun basking and making images from the clouds.
When I’d revel in heavenly splendour.
Not lost in thoughts of what tomorrow will bring.
Take me back to open spaces not closed walls.
To old friends not new acquaintances.
When I’d play in the rain rather than in its after-scent.
Enjoy every living minute, make it a lifetime moment.
Take me back, just take me back.