Let there be no music the next time we meet.
I wouldn't want other notes to distract
The melodies of smile that light up my soul
In these our quarries of programmes and codes
Where horns and motors now reign.
Perhaps we should find a new ruin for a meet
And meditate on soft-blooming colours of clouds
That paint our skies with 'what could have been'
As both of us dig for relics to be culled
To fence our memories all tight.
We only have episodes of one-day-long tours
That linger with same set of questions unasked
And count through the pulses of answerless acts
That end up with stuttering farewells.
My fingers are tangled in time's clotted knots
Where stardust is turned into pebble-mired sand.
Warmed by the sunlight you wove through your hair,
I have longed for the music of seas.
But even as I rush towards waves rather late,
I'm left with the surfeit of bubbles instead.