The vinyl record lies untouched
And wears a coat of dust.
For many years, no hands have clutched
To play the songs of lovers crushed,
Poetic lines that speak of trust
And life that is unjust.
A man sits down to rest his bones;
His day at work was hard.
He shuts his eyes, which seem like stones,
To chase away his aches and groans
But feels a pain he can't discard,
For life has dealt his card.
He fondly starts to reminisce
And sees himself with her.
He longs to feel her tender kiss,
To bask in years of wedded bliss,
To breathe her jasmine mixed with myrrh—
His heart begins to stir.
His teary eyes allow a glance
At where the record lies.
Recalling how they loved to dance
Beneath a moonlit night's expanse
And gaze beyond adoring eyes,
He sighs her name and cries.
He reaches for and plays a song
To hear her words once more.
His mind takes flight and treks along
The paths they took when they were strong—
The mornings walking on the shore,
Where love for her he swore.
He hears the voice that crowns her words—
A healing song of glee.
Like arias of rhythmic birds,
It balms his heart of shattered thirds,
Unshackling pain to set it free,
As if she heard his plea.