the fluidity of time carries
no guarantees of flow
what is given to all are intervals
of unsolicited solitude,
interspersed meetings with some
or common paths traveled
of which conscious memories
are often unaware.
strangers unlike strangers
at different intervals show
some recognized vibrations
some too masked to know,
in the words that I said
and in those that I wrote
recollections of a past
laid out like the stars.
constellations untainted, waiting
to be deciphered by lines
only your artistic brush could know,
you pretended to miss
what lay bared,
yet your eyes acknowledged
without an actual stroke.
as the black canvas fades out
to the brighter rays of time
the thread will get cut off
to the vision you left unexplored,
ignorance for now
maybe your treasured bliss
but sometime in a dream
the mystery will solve.
stories hidden in the depths of the sea
will shine like sea shells on the shore
matching every solitudinal footprint
that the virginal sands will show,
and as you hum the songs I sung
the meanings of words ignored afore
will form the lines to the erstwhile dots
which even your open eyes will know.
meetings and intervals are a play of time
recognitions and vibrations are often veiled
the ebb of time is a wave that comes back
the wind that fires the embers bright
will one day come back in another cloak
the stars will align in the sky again
your brush will dip in the oily paint
and the lines will join them before they can fade.