At the attic...

I walked up the stairs,
Once again,
After a very long time.

Ever special, the winding stairways,
And I walked on,
Stopping at the wooden doorway.
Intricate carvings,
Of eons ago,
It shone amidst the dim light.

Pushing open,
I entered into the pitch black space,
Cobwebs hugging me tight,
Sticking all over me,
As though speaking a billion words,
Of an era bygone.

I walk, further in,
Pulling off the spider webs,
And I lit the candle, bright.

Dust rose, shining,
As I touched the oakwood desk-
The desk, that held my past memories,
The many letters i penned, atop,
And the many tears it soaked in,
Forever, my thoughts captured.

Moving on, I pried open,
The old trunk, that lay hidden,
Beneath the many layers of paper,
To find that very fabric, I loved,
The fragrance of yesterdays,
Welling in, deep.

I walk on, brushing off the dust,
Lighting up the darkest of corners,
Brightening up, once again.

Hours and hours,
Of rummaging through the junk,
Dirt and dust allover,
Shining beads of sweat breaking in.
And I gather the old souvenirs,
Their fresh aroma, soothing me.

Gently, I pull down the shades,
And I walk down, filthy and dripping-
Gathered in my arms,
The little doll of mine, the golden silk scarf,
The broken fountain pen, the newspaper cuttings,
And the fragrant childhood of mine.

Walking down the spiral stairways,
I feel lofty, and ever so calm, in delight,
Back from my little escapade, at the attic...