The Perfume Bottle

The perfume bottle was once,

Filled with colourful liquid,

Lying down on the dressing table,

It once had a life of its own.

Now seems empty with empty hopes,

Lying down without colour and light,

That coloured perfumed water,

Vanished in the thin air.

So spontaneously like a magic trick,

The magic show seems to be over,

It seems blank from the bed,

But there is something in that emptiness.

That talks of the warmth,

On a chilly breezy night on the beach,

The bottle is vacant but,

The scent is still there.

Is it some magic?

How is it possible?

Maybe something is still there,

Something that will stay there forever.