I stand by your tomb.
My eyes tread over the epitaph;
Tiptoeing with caution,
Lest this elegy wakes your slumber.
My eyes behold some distant mirage,
With the blurred reflection of your visage.
I try to recall,in vain;
Your face,its contours,
The subtle wrinkles
Bridging the caprice of youth
With the wise disdain of age.
My ears strain
To reminisce; the timbre,
The nuances and ecstatic thrill
Of your now failing voice.
I long to contain that intangible guile,
The kind akin to mourners.
I crave the comfort that only the living,
Can bestow upon their kin.
P.S. Listening to Chopin reminded me of the person I used to be.It is as though a part of me has died.