To Forget or Not to Forget
A Poem by Danny Ballan from The Scream Poem Collection
You thought of me your own;
wasn’t it the pleasure you sought?
On my land you drowned
in lust until a ship you had no more—
you sailed away, anyway
On a tiny little boat.
Was the right of pleasure only for man?
A slave I get to dance around your table,
yet never do I have the chance to taste your wine—
freedom is only yours to drink me up
Keeping me thirsty all the time.
If there could be no tomorrow,
even the hollow caves of memory
cannot hold you and I for long
to be remembered after this brief journey is off,
a drink we’ve never had,
once tasted the craving is gone;
you can forget as I can—
an old glass of wine
can be enjoyed only once.
Poem Insights
Poetry has the unique ability to distill complex emotions and profound truths into just a few lines, leaving us to unravel the meaning within. Danny Ballan’s To Forget or Not to Forget is one such poem—layered with themes of power, pleasure, oppression, and the fleeting nature of memory. It does not demand interpretation but rather invites us into its world, allowing us to wrestle with its questions on our own terms.
At its core, the poem seems to tell a story of exploitation and imbalance, of one person taking pleasure at the expense of another. The imagery is striking: a figure who once held power and indulged in pleasure, while another was left yearning, denied even the basic right to experience the same freedom. The lines, “freedom is only yours to drink me up / Keeping me thirsty all the time,” echo the painful reality of oppression—one person consumes while the other is left deprived, ever yearning but never fulfilled.
This brings us to the powerful metaphor of wine. Throughout history, wine has symbolized indulgence, celebration, and sometimes even power. Here, it serves as a symbol of both pleasure and freedom—things that the speaker was never allowed to taste. But why? Who decides who gets to drink the wine of life, of pleasure, of freedom? And when someone is denied that chance, what does it do to them? Does it make them stronger, or does it simply leave them bitter and broken?
The poem takes another turn in its final stanza, shifting from the present injustice to the question of memory. “If there could be no tomorrow, even the hollow caves of memory cannot hold you and I for long.” There is something haunting in these words—a suggestion that, despite all the suffering and imbalance, even pain is fleeting. Memory itself is not a stronghold but a fragile and temporary shelter. Does suffering lose its weight when it is forgotten? Or is it the very act of remembering that gives it meaning?
This leads to an even deeper philosophical question: Is forgetting a curse or a blessing? On one hand, to forget means to be free from pain, to move forward without being burdened by the past. But on the other, to forget means to erase history, to lose the lessons and truths that once shaped us. If the oppressed forget their oppression, does that mean their suffering was in vain? And if the oppressor forgets, does that mean they are free from guilt? What does it mean to be remembered, and what does it mean to be forgotten?
Then there is the final, almost dismissive, line: “An old glass of wine can be enjoyed only once.” This could be read in many ways. Does it mean that once pleasure is taken, it loses its value? That once the experience is over, there is no reason to dwell on it? Or does it suggest that the person who indulged—who took, consumed, and left—never even valued what they had in the first place? Was it just a momentary indulgence, a forgettable taste that disappears the second the wine is gone?
Perhaps the most intriguing thing about this poem is the way it refuses to offer clear answers. It leaves us suspended in its questions, making us reflect on our own experiences, our own encounters with power, desire, oppression, and memory.
So, what do we do with this? Do we fight to be remembered, or do we embrace the inevitable fading of our stories? Do we seek justice, or do we let go of past wounds in the name of healing? Is it better to drink deeply from the glass of life, even if it leaves us empty afterward, or is it safer to never taste at all? These are the questions the poem leaves us with, and in that, it succeeds—not in providing answers, but in making us think, feel, and wrestle with truths that are deeply personal and yet universal.
This poem is from Danny’s The Scream poem collection, which is available to buy on Amazon.
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