The trip Back

One morning I sang to a quiet river
On the banks where conscious waves tiptoed in.
There were a few friends,
Few of them strangers;
Silence filled memories for me.

One night she waited in the station.
I couldn't come.
There were a few promises made,
Fewer kept.
She wrote a letter without postal codes.

This day,
When I met myself again,
They came -
For things left unsaid,
For songs left...

- 2016