A Door through Time

There's a knock at the door...

I keep my book aside,

the coffee still smells warm...

Passing by the mirror

I look up...

There's a fine crack,

which runs from corner to corner

I shiver, unconsciously...

The fire at the hearth dying,

the knock repeats...

I push open the ebony

There's a dreary winter drizzle

The murkiness clings to me...

The black in the sky dilutes like tea leaves in a boiling pot...

The lightening reflects the streaks of silver standing on my threshold,

She greets me like an old friend, "Hi Sasha"

Uncanny familiarity jolts me out of myself...

Yet, I can't seem to find her in the dusty crevices

I ask her, "Do I know you?"

"I know you, though we last met twenty years ago"

My eyes, bewildered search her face,

Her honey brown orbs suck me in...

The lines more obvious as she crinkles-

It feels like a search for Self...

Another bolt across the sky

And everything freezes...

No sound of the raindrops falling

Or the rustling of the leaves...

The mad rush around or inside, All Still.

Purple ether suspended...

I look at her pale hands...

The swollen purple veins like the banyan roots above ground

She passes me a curious teak box...

A dial on its lid...suffocated time reflects the glint

I see a crack from corner to corner...

Suddenly, the box feels heavier

The rain comes alive...the dial ticks...tocks...

The deafening seconds passing

The woman, nowhere in sight.

The chilled drops on my face shake me up from stupor

Was she even real?

The piercing honey browns burn in my memory...

It can not not be real.

Yes! the evidence, I was holding on to it...

Could it be pirate's gold inside?

Or was it witch wand?

If not, a beating heart?

I unbolt the box with shaking hands...

There lies a fragile discoloured diary.

Old and dreary, like the sky outside

The cover reads 2020...

I hesitate...and flip the first leaf

There it is...which I never asked! The name of the owner-

I blow on the dusty page...the antique smell pulling me in...

It amuses and flusters me, we both share the same name-

There, written in caps S-A-S-H-A

Another leaf, it reads in the middle 'REGRETS'

I close the diary or perhaps my eyes...

As the day clears the next morning...

It's a different world, greener, purer-

There's an enlightened dormancy in the air...

My footsteps pull me to a decaying bookstore...

Even the air around smells time-worn

I look through the glass window...

Struck again by that similar familiarity...

There it lies, the diary with pink camellias...cover reads 2020-

Just bereft that dust and mould.

As I try to look closer, the shine blinds my eyes...

I squint. See...a crack on the window from corner to corner.

I sit in the balcony, watching the goblet dim...

It all turns hazy, as a tear drop falls on the diary-

On the page, it reads 'SASHA', ink still not dry...

Gets adorned with a purple capillary...