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The rusted piano

Memories, even your most precious ones, fade surprisingly quickly. But I don’t go along with that. The memories I value most- I don’t ever see them fading. Kazuo Ishiguro

Littered it sat

amidst dust and specks of rain, ethereal-

the occasional, drifting petal that cared to make its way,

and the bird etched a mark.

The withering rose even at times, mysteriously sitting

atop the splintered lid!

It could play yet, maybe- so assured I was;

with the warmth of the adept fingers

that once caressed its carcass,

Recalling days and revelries of yore,

a rhapsody might yet spring out of its ghost-

to narrate another rousing tale;

so many promises, yet I left it there

letting the dust and rain gather,

on its rusted self.

Chivalry and memories held me back

and it sat there:

weaving a story with dust and rain,

abandoned, embracing darkness beside the open window-

and an occasional shaft of light.

Sayandeep Das is a student at Hindu College. He has a passion for poetry, short stories, plays, articles, and philosophical fiction. He is an ardent devotee of nihilistic and existential schools of thought and considers figures like Franz Kafka, Friedrich Nietzsche, and Albert Camus to be his ideals.

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