When I think back to youth I see nothing but toys
And books, hopes and dreams, all small, big, good, and bad ones,
Which are flown high like a flag fraying at the edge,
Its colors fading in the iridescent sky.
When I think back to youth I smell nothing but dried
Flowers in fake ikebana that no artist
Could fail to take notice of amidst the beauty,
Illusions, and ephemera that surround him.
And then one day I remembered and saw them all,
The old friends I used to play and run about with
In hurried race against time to grow mustaches,
To match our ogling spirits and swarthy faces.
When I think about them I can’t help missing them,
And then I cry helplessly in boring silence
With the thought of finding in my heart all the guts
To let go of them and make brand new memories.