Think of me as an undefinable warmth,
as the warmth of the morning sun,
steadier and more capable than your bedroom lamp
as you stumble down the shadow-lined hallway
and breathe in my promise, a man released
from his wrongful grave.
If it is cloudy, or if you are denied
that first stretch, those first breaths,
let me be the busy energy of the day.
I will be your strength, even through the power of my absence,
guiding you down the one sure road you choose to take,
weaving your life and your memories
so tightly to the daylight
that no one can look at them and tell them apart.
And if there is no daylight for you,
remember me as the night. Remember me as
a faint glimmer of watchful stars,
or let me be the coolness in your room,
the whisper of wind that tickles its way
across your face
and sinks deeply into your dreams.
Remember me as a time of day,
so that when your clock stops or
your city's fog shuts out the seasons,
or when you no longer have clear memories of me,
you cannot say that I have been forgotten.
© Yashoda Naidoo