Sepia sheets of notes read
the blues, that rested over
corroded strings of an old
guitar with petals of roses
that once used to heal the
wet coasts of the eyes and
an unfulfilled dream of a
firm embrace, stays dusty
at the corner of my vacant
room with the memories of
the blue notes like an old,
obscured calligraphy with
the dry roses, murmuring
the tales of an old love,
penned on bits of old
and dusty sepia sheets...