A small song

Visage of the gone leaves not many clues

But deep in heart keep ringing sounds crude

Sounds clogged by the rivers that refused

Rhythms that have been heard by few

And in this melody of chaos, I search

I search my songs to just give off some dust

Dust off some rhymes of past

Dust off some songs that were written long back

Now that lie in the darkest closets -

bereft of the lights that once fueled them

And bereft of me who had made them by thought

Their melodies broke as time passed 

As apparent in this rime of the aghast

An old man looked back at the closet

And from it came some life into the bones senile

Creepy, mushy and full of tears

It embraced the arms of the old.

And both sat crying -

One for its lost dream, one for the eyes-the only one to see.