The wall by my side

Sometimes, a déjà vu, a memory gripping the hold,

like I am under a shed

a shed, where I think I was born

to listen,

and to devote an era in searching

the light,

caught between some petite plaster,

like a firefly

with white wings, and hollow

dreams,

searching for a silver candle,

nowhere

to be seen.

I feel my echo in some ears,

readily passing

my body,

to a place, I remember,

long back visited,

I still, was walking when

the songs of her

slumber

wafted to me, and

there was

light.