Through Time

COHORT 3

My parents hold onto records of me through time,

and I keep on wishing that I could undo time.

Once, I tried to remove the two hands of a clock,

as if my little, calloused palms could unscrew time.

These days, I chase after the next day to come,

running clockwise in circles as I pursue time.

My mind reels as quickly as the broadcast headlines;

on most days, all that I want is to subdue time.

Another morning rises to falling gunfire.

I pray and I say never again each new time.

Smoke swallows the sun as my town catches fire.

With this world inherited, I can’t renew time.

Fear holds my hours hostage within my own house.

I break out because I know I can’t redo time.

I wonder which fears fester in minds held by chains, 

whether prayers transcend bars for those who do time.

I wear the paranoia I wish I’d outgrown.

For years, I pretend that I’ll grow up in due time.

For the disillusioned end to my youth, I’d give 

one-and-a-half stars, if I were to review time.

My dreams are becoming no more than memories;

tracing paths to my past, I am now lost to time.

I have always heard a ticking in my heartbeat,

a countdown to my final goodbye. Adieu, Time.

Writing: Sandra Chen

Music: Alan Shen

Art: Katherine Xiong