Bygone

The unlatched door of 

My room that opens to 

A wide terrace.

It sways back and forth 

To the swish of the 

Incoming wind.

The Hinges grate,

It creaks- grr grr..

Like an Old man's

Snore to his disappointed 

Dreams. Who knows,

That no one is ever going to 

Come to meet him.

Blurry eyes- 

Even the light is

Hesitant to enter.

Runny nose- 

The air is afraid of a

Seamless exchange.

The winds come 

Constantly and Dreams 

Knock regularly but 

Both overlook all the usual 

Hints- In search of 

Something that has 

Greater meaning-

Eventually ends up, 

Alone and waiting.

Unlatched and creaking.

Once in a while, had he

Listened carefully..

He would have heard

Her song and latched

The door and

Slept early beside her

Without any nightmares

Or snore.