THE TIME MACHINE

 

I wish I could go back,

into the future,

and meet my Dad

when he was little, says Raf.

 

You can, I say, when you’re older.

Meaning transcendental meditation.

 

Oh, somebody made a time machine?

Excited now. Hopeful.

No, but you can do it

with your mind. You can do

 

anything with your mind, I say, 

having learned this the slow way.

 

Not like Raf, who is learning

gifts with speed – 

his seven-year-old self

unrecognizable from mine.

 

And my brother, meeting him –

a father, in a different time. 

Shaista Tayabali, 2018

I wrote this poem when Raf was seven, and we were milling about the tiny Indonesian eco island of Nikoi, thinking about big things like time travel. I haven't travelled since that summer, and most of us haven't travelled for two years now... so as we embark upon Year Three of The Pandemic, I thought this would be a hopeful poem to share. The photograph below is in 'Lupus, You Odd Unnatural Thing', in black and white. I asked Raf's permission to use it in my book. 'Of course,' he said. 'Why are you even asking me?' But I was trying to be respectful - after all, a baby then, a ten year old now, will one day be a grown man... maybe even 'a father, in a different time.'

photographs taken by I. Tayabali

poem participating in DVerse Poets community Open Link Night...