FORTY FOUR : The Song

There is this song in my head,
symphony of guitars,
and deep drums.
Stuck somewhere between yesterday,
and the early hours of today.

I cannot remember the tune
or the words.
Nor the place
where my senses picked up the smell
It is there like some old memory
permanently blurred,
faces that were fresh and tunes scrubbed.

I might dash into the song
while it whizzes past my ear.
And I hope it remembers me
and I recollect its face.

And both rejoice the wrinkles
grey hair and bald heads
and dance in circles
while the guitars and the drums,
sound familiar again.

There is this song in my head,
I hope I meet her again.