There was a time,                                                                 
I used to stand in majesty,
In the midst of a cosy parlour,
Newly alive and varnished,
A burnt umber glowing in grandeur,
Ornate Swiss trinkets placed on top,
Shimmering in the evening light,
That creeps evenly through the silky drapes.

When yuletide wraps around
The parlour teems with opulent visitors,
And bedecks in a magical grotto.
Christmas light,
Filters through an embroidered tapestry,
And creates a mosaic of hues
On her slender white fingers,
As they dance on my ivory keys,
Running on mellifluous notes to harmonious octaves.
The marquee ladies and gentlemen
Mesmerised by the Fur Elise
Spills champagne on their velvet coats.
The music fills to the brim
And overflows through the French windows,
Out into the vale profound.

Now, I stand forlorn at a corner,
The only silent living witness,
For nearly seven wild decades,
Waiting for her, waiting for my Liz
She, an angel incarnate
With flowing chestnut hair,
And tiny blue button eyes.

She was barely five,
When she first saw me,
I remember,
They had to lift her onto the stool,
As her tiny legs hang dangling down.
She pressed a key with much effort
And screamed, sated in overwhelming joy.
She loved me and I loved her
An inextricable bond we shared.
May it be joy, may it be sorrow
She comes running to me.

She grew younger
The music grew better
And I grew older.

The Beautiful Blue Danube
Flowed into the Moonlight Sonata
As her young lover leaned against me,
His gaze fixed on her sapphire eyes.
A kiss they shared
Amidst every melodious break.

Spring declined
And turned into a long summer’s day
With tiny tots frolicking around me
Duties kept her busy
Yet, a moment she spared on every eve
For a seeping lively tune.
While they sang and clapped and danced around
The music merrily receded into the eventide.

Time flew to an autumn fall,
Farewell, she bid to her darling loves.
Wistful and depressed,
She returned to her old friend,
With tears glistening upon a melancholic tune.

A lightning struck a winter’s brown decay.
Harsh, cold and cruel.
An empty armchair standing at a corner.
She came limping towards me
And sat with a huge sigh,
Sunken eyes scrutinizing the manuscript,
Through horn-rimmed glasses,
Fixed upon a wrinkled nose,
A shrunken foot on my right peddle,
And weak, feeble finger tips
Pressing down hard on me.
Unbelievable!
The music flows in like before,
So pure, so soft.
Yet, none to clap,
None to praise.

She stood up with great effort
And staggered away leaning on a stick.
She never glanced back at me
And never returned.
The gates closed
The doors bolted
And the windows shut.
Not a sound
Not a light.
Darkness, darkness, darkness
Waiting for her, waiting for my Liz
With my peddles rusted and half gone
And keys turning yellow.
That glamour concealed beneath a layer of dust
Forgotten and unperturbed.
All nostalgic memories fading into evanescence.