Creative Writing

Time Machine

In the dance of time, a machine with three stops
A journey through eras, where memories crop.
If I was given a chance, I’d be in the ‘70s divine,
To meet my mother, in her youth’s sunshine.

Hearing gleeful laughters, with her friends around,
In the tapestry of her life, stories abound.
I’ll start a pleasant conversation, a curious quest,
Unveiling dreams she once held close to her chest.

What were her passions, her unspoken desires?
Before she was my mother, before the hearth’s fires.
Where did she dream to travel? What made her heart soar?
In the 70s, with her, I’d explore.

Ensuring her safe return home, a promise to keep,
In the fabric of time, our connection runs deep.
Next that I’ll travel, the early 2000s anew,
She’ll remember me as an old friend, with a different view.

Baby clothes in hand, a child by her side,
In a small yellow house where love did reside.
Muddy floors and tired smiles,
Yet, amid chaos, life’s beauty compiles.

I join her in the daily chore,
Mopping away troubles, making the house adore.
She shares of being a mother, for her, an art,
A tale of love that may never depart.

Lastly, I’d travel to the future, distant and unknown,
To find my daughter, a seed I’ve sown.
Years have gone by, my absence keen,
In her arms, the warmth she’d never seen.

For when I rest in the beyond’s gentle embrace,
I will be yearning for my mother’s comforting grace.
I know my daughter will feel the same,
A longing for love that bears no name.

- Carla Jamille Tindogan