Regret is a self-incriminating tool,
a self-confession under the harsh light
of constant self-interrogations
up all day and night with wide-open eyes;
a self-imposed confinement,
shackled by the weight of memories,
constrained by thewalls of one’s introspection.
Half-wanting to see the glimpse of daylight
to shine onto a persecuted life
and perhaps salvage anything worth recovering
to bring out into the light-
perhaps a stretched, frail hand reaching out
from some dark corner,
asking to be redeemed,
to be resuscitated,
with barely audible words
‘forgive me’.
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