A still night,
And yet the leaves danced,
The inaudible rustle,
Made her look askance.
Jumbled thoughts poured forth,
As her eyes stared blankly ahead,
At the unmoving scene,
Recollecting the said and unsaid.
A glance sideways,
Feigned order through the confusion,
Desires paraded as wishes,
And reality as illusion.
The seconds’ hand ticked slower than usual,
The beam of a car light shone and disappeared,
Dullness again,
A sketch of still life.
A circle of dreams,
Surrounding, bewitching,
A longing for the ‘different’,
An attachment to the ‘same’,
Rewinding words,
Doubting claims.
The reverie breaks,
Her eyes dart across,
At the still night,
No more dancing leaves,
No rustle.
Time has moved on,
She shuffles through the pages,
They appear blank,
The lines empty,
The ink too faint.
She breathes in deep,
She feels the sting,
She pats her eyes dry,
But still,
Her memories cry.
