the smells of my past

the smell is a connector
everytime the rain falls and the grass is soaked
and the earth is drenched
the smell seeps in my house, my lungs and my soul
and my spirit dances with complete abandon
drunk with the smell
enchanted with its richness
it is same smell, the smell of my being

I breathe in too much
and quickly too
and keep doing it
Because I know soon the sky will be clear
and the light will pierce through the intricate web of dreams and memories
I wove in my drunken stupor
and the dance will come to a halt

the cruel, brutal light
so bright it hurts the eyes
and scorches the soul
it rips apart my little world
like a hot rod through flesh

then I turn inwards
to shut off that light
i rummage through the stuff in my old suitcase
a black one, the straps coming off
the buckles rusted
i sniff through the papers, i scan the pictures
somewhere in those old letters, crinkled books, faded photos
I live
drugged by the weak smells
Someplace in those little pockets of the old suitcase
my childhood lingers
waiting to be rescued

that suitcase, tucked away in the closet
with all its smells and sights
is my escape
and my solace
a retreat and a refuge