• Vol. 08
  • Chapter 03


All those pictures I used to take
when I was younger, and on film—
I mean proper, photographic
film, the one that came in a black
plastic box, promised thirty-six
good shots but would give you two more,
if you knew how to mount it best…
The colours were—seemed—so brilliant,
but they have faded now, at least
they are not as I remembered
them. Life fades, and memories fade.

Now everything is digital,
and you can play with images,
add things that were not really there,
but the magic of an old film
was that you might get some surprise
every time you developed it:
flashes of colour, and strange lights,
and even the ordinary,
a view of the sea through a fence,
would turn into a different world
and show you more than you had meant
to see.