Much regret can one carry –
up a hill, through the streets of a city,
by bus, hidden, in brown checkered suitcases,
a bright pink rucksack,
little black purses, ( a body bag, a coffin ) –
for years pushing and pulling the load,
the burden of a lifelong guilt.
Much remorse stays in one’s heart,
grief travels with us, unseen luggage
to places where we want to forget
but we won’t; we notice
how the smile of old people
is cracking their faces:
we feel the skin break in pain.
Much, too much we want to carry on,
beyond our limits, absurd snails
we are, moving slowly
until we forgive ourselves,
until we let go of the weight,
and make decisions.
Until we dare to do so.