I made a scabbard of light.

Of late..
I’m more of pictures than words,
more of fiction than truth,
more of a folklore than memoir,
I’m my voice custom fitted into yours.

I know you from the old days,
when they’d just started sewing notes into symphonies,
and we shared the secret of the secret cult of musical notes..
I doubt you remember though,
it was way before the memories could be bottled nay?

Of late I’m no longer in your vicinity,
we do not share the same oblivion,

You sip dirty martinis,
I chase disentangled musical notes to the cellar,
(psst! The others, they write compositions)

I’m quite in the process,

Don’t rush me as of yet,
I’ll strip down word by word
only if you wait.

Patience.
(shhh!! The others might hear)

I might own a Persian grimalkin sometime in the future,
or a burgundy red Beetle,
or a seven-language thesaurus
or all of them together.

of late let my giggles just resonate in your ears,
while I take my daily tram to abyss and back.

Behold.
clasp your eyes shut and disappear!
that is how it is done.
yes , the others do it wrong!!

we shall hold hands till the end of tunnel
and then we disappear,
we’ll take it slow,

one step at a time

We’ll meet again.

yes we shall,
you of the dark-rimmed-intense-eyes,

And me,
of  chewed fingernails.

some other end of the tunnel sepia landscape
( the broken notes,
and the slurred songs?)