Seconds’ Passing

Tick tick tick
mark the seconds’ incessant passing,
and I am growing older,
less and less
remembering the vows
I made in childhood,
sacred oaths that I said
I’d never break, if breath was still
in me — that I would
remember how
it had been.
But my eyes have seen
the years, they have
experienced the weathers, not
as I imagined
(if I ever did so), back when:
and I would wish
to explain some things
to the me of back then,
but I know that
when I was choking back tears,
I would have heard
none of it, would
have called myself a propagandist,
if I knew the word,
wonder how I, even I,
could forget those precious things.
But I have new dreams, now,
I say to myself,
and I look sadly
at the child that was me,
and I think, you’ll understand,
one of these days:
growing up
doesn’t hurt as much as all that.