The time will come
when, with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other's welcome,
and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you
all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,
the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.
Throughout the course of a lifetime, maybe one tends to forget themselves. When you're a child, you are yourself, uncorrupted by what society tells you to be; playing your games, dressing your ways, saying what you need and want to say.
But then, life seems to move ahead of yourself, and you find wearing what other wear and saying and doing what others are saying and doing.
And maybe, in the midst of it all, you fall in love, and forget yourself, and then at the end, when left alone again, you great yourself, and you're a stranger. But the greeting is amicable, nice.
What I think of this poem is that although it does not excell in it's use of language (so far, no poem I have read by Derek Walcott has) but it's peaceful ideas that tend to bring light into some aspects of our lives, of ourselves, of our universe. I don't think he's the best poet that there was, however, I think he had a characteristic so essential yet hard to find in poets, which is, that he could put in the jar of words the essences of life.