​​The past, my love,
is not a foreign country​. 
In the alleys of mind 
it accosts us each day​.
Not a​ mausoleum of memories​,
it is the ​undeniable ​lived ​time​
erupting
as all consuming volcanoes.

​Treading the familiar lanes​,​ 
we ​meet our past, each day​
fearing our own shadow​. 
It is the other end of a circle
the mouth of a python rushing
to swallow us soon.​

-RA, 21 September 2022