Fingers of curiosity stoke the embers of left over debates,
Stirring up the memory, raking up the grey ashes of years gone by,
The fingers don’t care , numb with old habits, insensitive to the glowing fire,
But the eyes catch fire as cinders are blown into moist window panes,
That remember too many details of thoughts spoken and unspoken,
Clear as they are being glassy and stoned,
And the gashes leave batting eyelids dousing the dying flame,
Like the requiem of an obliterated epic hero ,
Whose face is forgotten but a name is remembered,
Fingers now charred refuse to withdraw themselves from the embers of cold winter nights,
When the wind howls a proxy to a heart that wails silently,
For seasons are far gone into oblivion leaving expansive deserts,
Shrouding oceans of love that once was..
And the sun shines in the sands while the moon cries its silver rays,
Embers die out and thoughts take their journey to nothingness.
