Sandalwood Oil Bottle
Little glass bottle,
Abandoned,
Forgotten.
Like a lost reliquary.
Asylum for love,
Sanctuary.
Small letters,
Worn down,
Blue
With a shade of brown.
Time stands still
in the bottle.
Encapsulated.
Inside,
all of our days.
Enumerated.
If I open it,
heady oil scent
will put me in trance.
With each inhale,
I know, my heart will race.
Bygone happiness
as if it belonged
to somebody else,
to a stranger,
that by mistake
swerved down
on my path.
It has been two months now
and the last drops of sweet-scented oil
are rolling down the bottom.
Wilted fingers spiked with fear
I cannot open the bottle.
I still and always will
remember when you were here.
Who decided to close the love
in that ungodly place?
Who can object that life
needs to be lived in grace?
The photo is courtesy of Tamara Zjačić.