A pair of once clear blue eyes
And a small mouth in silent desolation,
both shut, but warm and so brave and wise
to fight against painful memory ablation.

A mixture of perfume and dust
Added to this peculiar presence
Or a puzzled piece of the sun at dusk
Mixed in a strong, bottled essence.  

Some bare foot steps on an oaken floor,
wrinkled hands and silk curtains get drawn,
A gentle touch of both old and cold ****
And maybe the armchair contemplating yesterday's dawn.

who was that, passing on the main road?
who knows, but that ponytail looked so familiar!
now and here, when time seems to have slowed,
when no visit is ever auxiliary ...

there are no steps coming through the old door,
and waiting is the only thing left to do,
until all of these hopes will no longer be sore
or maybe memories will fade away too...