The Pool and the Ears

yusuf achmad

Joyful swimming must be forsaken.
My ears ring, as I linger in
the village pool of my grandmother, in Malang.
Cool and clear water, stones and white flowers.
They greet me—whispering:
We were once together, in days long gone.
When she and my grandmother still roamed at Nyamplungan.

But now my ears ache,
the water pushing—forcing.
My face has altered,
just like my ears.
Different—not the same,
as she who has left Nyamplungan.
Yet I remain,
though her face lingers in memory.

Was I mistaken?
Perhaps she is still the same.
Only my ears have shifted,
aching from sorrow or solitude.
Only my face is different,
aged by time or sadness.
Only I have moved away,
forgetful or weary.

Yes, I forgot,
that pool never was mine.
I was but a guest,
allowed a swim occasionally.
Borrowing the cool and clear waters,
stones and white flowers.
Holding on
to the cherished memories of her.

Yes, I grew weary,
chasing shadows of the past.
Dreaming that she may still be here.
Hoping she still remembers me.
Praying that she might still love me.

But I know, it’s all in vain.
I must realize, she is gone.
I must accept, she is happy now.
I must surrender,
for she no longer belongs to me.

Thus, I step away—
leaving the pool behind.
Leaving my aching ears,
and altered face.
Letting go of old memories,
and false hopes.
Leaving her,
and my bygone self.

19-7-2023