The memory is getting eroded.
By the river of new happenings.
Yet I see it on the back of my inner eye,
An old painting is seen after a long time.
Paint has coated the canvas.
The sky, in pitch black, dotted with stark white,
Lamps covering the lane with a yellow sheen,
Lamps under which, lovers seek each other till dawn awakes.
It is now rarely used.
For there is seldom a car to pass by.
Aged old trees stand like sentinels.
And towering above all are abandoned buildings.
So stationary and stranded.
But people do trace it, at times.
To avoid the traffic from the main road.
Or to relive the nostalgia of old days.
Often, I sit and recall those memories.
Filling up the nooks and corners of my old mind.
They say my last days should be spent with my beloved.
That I need to change my ways with time.
They change rapidly like the Universe.
But I fear for myself and for my street.
That we will remain allegiant to old times.
That Grumpy Old Buck will forever be caretaking his lane.
This street is my beloved alone.
For it is where we had our trysts.
I am a fool who waits with blind faith.
But how can I ever escape from memories?
In my dreams alone do I see you
With long dark hair flowing like ink.
And your emerald eyes never looking back
From where you’d said goodbye.
I realize it, too late.
I am already halfway across the Styx
Spent years waiting to hear your voice again,
But all I hear now is the irony in regret.
Charon has reached the other side
And I awake from the dream of life
A life which I never truly lived.
While my beloved street now bears a grave.
Image credits: Google Images
I know I’ve not been posting a lot these days but I do assure you that my absence will be made up very soon…And this was one of my very first poems without a rhyming scheme so please do leave your views about it in the comment section below!