If Only

Cleaning out the old rickety bookshelf,
found the book that you once lent,
eons ago, it feels.

Never got around to read it then,
don't know how i forgot to give it back
and why you never reminded me

Until today, when
walking through its pages,
under yellow shade of their silent aging,

Saw a rose pressed in between
whose bloom noiselessly
long disappeared,

One of its corners, in that familiar slant,
carried a note
of your rhythmic hand

Lost in it for i don't how long
my eyes kept tracing
the curves of things it let on

And in the lull of that epiphany
i tried and failed repeatedly
to quieten the maddening storms

Caught off-guard,
parted lips all but let out
a sigh of a singular thought

"if only... "

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