In musty browned pages old…

In musty browned pages old,

Can you smell the past?

A life passing by along,

In slow-motion, un-fast

 

That musky smell that liberates

The letters on a page,

While one fettered soul finds out

Keys to his own cage

 

In trapped a fragrance of the past,

What do you really see?

Deep the sleepy, sodden roots

Of an empty winter’s tree

 

There standing in a book stall

In a sea of pages pale,

Bits of someone else’s life

Left hanging in a sale

 

That smell on College Street is then,

Something else you know

The petrichor of life itself,

Beating, heartbeat slow

 

A teardrop here, a scribble there

A lipstick stain as well

A petaled hope forgotten long,

Oh, what story would it tell

 

A number pencilled long ago,

What was that raspy voice?

Did someone even make that call –

Was it a hopeless choice?

 

Then, to caress that dog-ear

That another soul had made,

As if, an unknown lover lost

That time itself forbade

 

A name, a date, somewhere a place

Splitting time in two,

The warmth of company in one,

Then, emptiness that flew

 

The event horizon can’t be passed,

Some stories can’t be told,

Secrets tombed in every book,

Beyond the print of old

 

But as you return another book,

Take joy you came and went,

And poured your life, a bit as well

In few those moments spent

 

One drop of care then left for good

From this eye’s forlorn blink,

In the musty browned pages old

Beyond the book and ink…

 

22^nd July’2022