My crumbling piano...

Quiet and desolate,
bared..
uncared..
stripped off all its tunes,
it lied in one corner of my room..
Unperturbed.
Unperturbing.
scathed by the memoirs of its bloom.
As the pages battled recklessly
nesting on their bosom
some void, hollow tunes
crowding against each other...
In their tryst with survival.
As the threads of hair raked my brow
in a feat to match the northern wind
and I opened my eyes to the broken glass door..
Remembering my pianist.
The moment I recalled
my walk deep down
trickled from his eyes, onto the mind.
The lashes concealed from me..my piano defied,
And in his music, in his eyes
my music did I find.
I kept swaying with the tune...
strummed by his stroke..
fondled by his fingers..
with the prayer to sway
all the ages to sprout
on the bosom of my piano,
unless we got trickled out.
And I stare through the broken door
this monsoon, uncalled for..
groping through the northern wind...
searching my music once more.
as I watch my piano crumble down
with tunes falling into pieces
strewn over the floor...
and memories blurred by the mist
Tunes and touches
along with me...
Waiting for my pianist.