The children march on the roads I’ve travelled.
From the spires of the old town to the towers of Sukhumvit,
I know these streets well.
Their banners and flags speak of a future
that I do not recognize.
Not for the lack of imagination,
but a lack of courage.
For theirs is a world alien to me,
free from the shackles and burdens of history.
I worry for them. I wonder too.
And I pray that my history,
the history of the old world,
does not trouble the new.
I look at their faces, inspired, hopeful
and recognize on these roads that I’ve travelled,
and imagine what could now be,
and recognize a reflection of who I used to be.