Ashes of Pompeii

I carry my plastic-coated days
in a portmanteau

its creaking bones, waning leather
show signs of age.

Defects in laminating films
often allow bubbles of optimism

making me search for lost sketches
of a bird, whose elegant wings
could glide over mournful troughs
and angry crests

yet all I dig up are fossils
of day to day bustle
held stagnant, as ashes of Pompeii.

The high GSM scratch resistant vinyl
have draped them with gloss

At times I wonder, which Museum
would preserve such mummies in me

and continue with the scribbles