Witness
The scent of Alstonia fades.
Across the silent phone lines —
dusk gathers, murky and ominous,
solidified in the labyrinthine mazes
of memories. Clear eyes cloud,
dim with the dust that chokes
the once pristine night air.
The whizz of a rasping breath
the only sound that scatters
the false halo of serenity surrounding
the lustreless light bulbs; the particles
of light making hazy the idle
reminiscences of lonely street lamps,
forever on guard at the corners
of deserted streets. The lone house,
once lit up by laughter and lovers’ trysts,
now stands a witness to passing time —
and the slow death of a togetherness.