We Were Once Hippies


Inspired by Keikaso by ALI PROJECT

Randall Goldberg was sitting by the window in the living room. He kept his gaze on the clouds as he sat there, thinking about his Father and why he left. Randall was only four years old and was already questioning his father’s actions. His mother, Julianna, entered the room and asked him, “Rany, what are you doing?”

The young boy replied, “I’m looking for Dad. He hasn’t come back yet.”

Julianna sighed, realizing her son was stuck in a dream, “your father…”

Randall interrupted her, “he’s not coming back, is he?”

Julianna picked him up and placed him on her lap, “he’s coming, don’t worry.” She assured him, “everything will be normal again.”

Randall couldn’t hold back the tears, “Why did he leave?”

Julianna rubbed his head and smiled, “I’ll tell you a poem about why he left. But remember, he didn’t desert us.”

The little boy nodded and prepared himself to listen:

A time when one struggled to fight

We wore bright colors, your dad and I

We traveled in a van

With our closet friends

The colors shine bright through glasses

I remember how we sang our songs

I remember how we skinny-dipped in the lake

And how much fun it was to not care

But later we had to care

I couldn’t sleep with the forest anymore

His dreams started choking me

But what killed my spirit was the law

Free but for no love

The colors meant nothing

The night sky looked like a vacuum that sucks away all the death

Preventing you from dying

The Osmanthus city is crumbling like my dreams

The moon was in a swarm like synchronized birds

And in the belly of the forest, I met with my taker

No more of the hippie dream

No more of our hearts beating as one

No more of our little apartment

We are always running from ourselves

Like the ghosts that haunt your dreams

The Osmanthus is crying

And the Dragons are returning

I remember being forever young

I remember your sweet kiss that seemed to never end

We all left our dreams at the door when the law came

But I still held on

With fingers brittle from cold

I held on to your Father’s dream

In hopes that he would return one day

In search for me and his dream

The Osmanthus is picking at their feathers

And by the time I felt his cold hands claim me

They became warm and familiar

It seemed only like yesterday we were once hippies

It’s no longer a distant day

But I still held on

With fingers brittle from cold

I held on to your Father’s dream

In hopes that he would return one day

In search for his dream

And in search of me

~ ~ ~

“What was his dream?” asked Randall.

Julianna smiled again, hoping to brighten her son’s mood, “he wanted to start a band. We were like a little family with our friends. We would get lucky sometimes and sing at bars or get-togethers. This was shortly before you were conceived.”

Randall’s eyes seemed to brighten, “Really? I didn’t know you could sing!”

Julianna, somewhat shocked, said, “Of course I can! Don’t tell me I never sung a song to you!”

Randall shook his head, “you never sang.”

Julia felt a tear slipping, “I think…maybe it’s because your father isn’t here to sing with me.”

Randall hugged his mother and said, “it’s okay, he’ll come home.”

Copyright © 2011 Nipaporn Baldwin

All rights reserved.

978-1-105-24861-0

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: