Time; God’s Great Thing.

A memory-maker

A dream spinner,

a way to heal, to transform.

Where, in the long stretches,

do moments turn into memory?

August Popsicles dripping down a summer dress

Warm Septembers,

Rusty, breezy Octobers,

Chilly Novembers giving way to winter,

and those nights I used to write and write.

Countless seasons have passed me by,

I am left clinging to childhood, to a carefree

sense of wild freedom,

of so much time to do so much,

and now, too many distractions,

and too little time.


Nesha Usmani



Promises, Ideas, and Dreams.

How is it that, just yesterday, I rose from my bed,

a child of such youth and vitality,

that no age can depict, nor can any number

describe or rationalize?

From the smooth brown skin of my arms,

to the dirt-roughened patches of my knees,

How can such innocence be expressed?

Fire at my heels, questions growing

in fractal like branches;

Where one is, there sprouts three!

Connecting and growing and reaching,

And like the brown and black tangles of

hair on my head, unkempt and carefree,

Curiosity never knew an end.

And now,

Content to stare and wonder,

or hide in dreamless sleep.

The innocence smothered

by the temptations of the world

and the errors of self.

The mind, once insatiable with questions,

with dreams,

Occupies itself with the convenience of today.

Would the child recognize me,

and I, the child?

Would we pass by each other

in ignorance? In relief?

In curiosity?

Would she see something familiar,

or would I look down in shame,

Knowing that I’ve long since

abandoned the promises and ideas

and dreams?

Nesha Usmani

February 1, 2013