The Endless Book

In a dusty corner of a forgotten shelf,
A kid discovers a book, unlike any wealth,
Its pages whisper secrets, a mysterious lore,
As he delves into its depths, he longs for more.

With trembling hands, he turns the first page,
And is drawn into a world, beyond age,
Where words dance in the moon’s soft glow,
And stories weave, an endless flow.

Each chapter unfolds with wondrous delight,
As he follows the characters, in day and night,
Through realms of magic, and lands of lore,
The book’s enchantment, he can’t ignore.

But as he reads, he soon comes to find,
That the book has no end, to his mind,
No matter how many pages he turns,
The story continues, forever adjourns.

He marvels at the boundless tale,
Where heroes rise and villains fail,
Where love conquers all, and dreams come true,
In the never-ending world, he wanders through.

Days turn to weeks, and weeks to years,
As he loses himself in the book’s frontiers,
Immersed in its wonder, its infinite span,
He becomes part of the story, a steadfast fan.

But as time marches on, he begins to see,
That the book’s magic comes with a fee,
For though its pages hold endless delight,
He’s trapped within its grasp, out of sight.

He longs for escape, for freedom’s embrace,
But the book’s spell holds him in its chase,
And so he reads on, with a heavy heart,
Knowing the end will never depart.

In the depths of the endless book, he roams,
A prisoner of its infinite tomes,
Forever lost in its boundless lore,
The kid who found a book that never ends, evermore.

Girl Without a Name

In the hush of dawn, as the world awakes,
A girl stirs from slumber, her mind aches,
For in the depths of night, a strange refrain,
She awakens to find, her name in vain.

A fog descends upon her thoughts, obscure,
As she struggles to recall, to procure,
The name that once was hers, a tether to the past,
Lost in the labyrinth of memory, vast.

She searches the corners of her mind, in vain,
But her name remains elusive, a silent bane,
And as the morning sun paints the sky,
She wonders who she was, with a heavy sigh.

Her reflection in the mirror, a stranger’s face,
As she grapples with the void, a vacant space,
Her identity adrift in the winds of time,
A riddle without answer, a silent chime.

She retraces her steps, in hopes to find,
A clue, a trace, to ease her troubled mind,
But the world around her remains unchanged,
As she wanders, lost, in memories estranged.

Faces pass her by, with curious gaze,
But to them, she’s but a fleeting phase,
A girl adrift in a sea of anonymity,
Lost in the depths of her own reality.

She seeks solace in the embrace of night,
Where stars whisper secrets, a gentle light,
But even the moon offers no reprieve,
As she grapples with the void, unable to leave.

Days turn to weeks, and weeks to months,
As she wanders the world, her heart in hunts,
For the name that once defined her soul,
A missing piece that takes its toll.

But amidst the chaos of her fractured mind,
A spark ignites, a flicker, kind,
For in the silence of her deepest fears,
She finds the strength to persevere.

And so she walks, with head held high,
A nameless wanderer beneath the sky,
But in her heart, a flame does burn,
For the girl she was, will someday return.

Wiser With Love

In the realm of hearts, a tale does unfold,
Of a boy who loved with passion untold,
For a girl whose gaze did not align,
With the flames of his love, his heart’s design.

He worshipped her from afar, his soul ablaze,
In her presence, he found his maze,
But she, oblivious to his silent plea,
Saw him as naught but a friend, carefree.

Yet still, he lingered in her shadow’s grace,
Hoping one day, she’d see his face,
But as the years went by, his heart did learn,
That love unreturned can only burn.

So they became friends, in heartache’s wane,
Bound by laughter, but tinged with pain,
He buried his feelings, deep within,
And embraced their friendship, a silent spin.

But as time whispered secrets, he grew wise,
And found solace in another’s eyes,
A girl whose laughter echoed true,
In her presence, his heart anew.

For in her smile, he found his home,
A love that blossomed, no longer alone,
And as he held her close, he realized,
The love he once felt, was but disguised.

It wasn’t love that bound him then,
But longing, an echo of what could have been,
And in the embrace of his true love’s glow,
He let go of the past, to let his heart grow.

For sometimes, love wears a disguise,
And what we think is love, may belie,
The truth that waits in patient grace,
In the arms of another’s embrace.

So let the past fade into the night,
As love’s true beacon shines so bright,
In the heart of the boy who learned to see,
That love’s true essence sets him free.

Summer’s Magic

In the heart of a land kissed by the sun’s embrace,
Lies a tale of a child, with dreams to chase,
For in the heat of summer, he finds his joy,
Yearning for days without school’s employ.

Each morning awakens with the promise of delight,
As he rises from slumber, his spirit takes flight,
Counting down the moments, eager and bright,
To the freedom of summer’s boundless light.

Oh, how he yearns for those cherished hours,
When textbooks are forgotten, replaced by flowers,
No more desks or lessons to endure,
Just endless adventures, fresh and pure.

In the classroom’s confines, he feels confined,
Dreaming of open fields, where dreams unwind,
Where the world is his canvas, vast and wide,
And every moment is an adventure to ride.

He imagines lazy days beneath the shade,
Where time drifts by, in a blissful cascade,
With the rustle of leaves and the whisper of trees,
Summer’s symphony, a sweet, gentle tease.

No more uniforms or early morning alarms,
No more deadlines or academic charms,
Just the freedom to wander, to explore and roam,
In the land of summer, his heart’s true home.

Oh, the adventures he envisions, grand and bold,
As he counts down the days, eager to behold,
The wonders that await, just beyond sight,
In the realm of summer, where dreams take flight.

From dawn till dusk, he’ll seize each day,
In a whirlwind of laughter and play,
With friends by his side, and skies so blue,
Summer’s embrace, forever true.

As the final bell tolls and school fades away,
He welcomes the warmth of summer’s sway,
For in its embrace, he finds his release,
In the joy of freedom, his soul at peace.

So let summer reign, with its golden hue,
As the child embarks on adventures anew,
In the endless expanse of time unfurled,
Summer’s promise, the joy of the world.

Almost Love – Part 2

In the quiet haven of a library grand,
Two souls crossed paths, destiny planned,
She, engrossed in a tome profound,
He, drawn by her presence, without a sound.

Their fates once more poised to converge,
In the tranquil aisles, their desires surge,
But fate, in its whimsical design,
Had other notions, a twist to define.

As he approached, anticipation soared,
Heartbeats echoing, dreams explored,
But just as their gazes were to meet,
A sudden commotion, a timely deceit.

A clattering book, a hurried voice,
Interrupted the moment, stole their choice,
And in that fleeting instant, they passed by,
Two yearning hearts, beneath the sky.

She, oblivious to his silent plea,
Lost in the pages, from reality free,
He, lamenting what could have been,
In the quiet whispers, his thoughts unseen.

Oh, how he wished for a different tale,
Where their meeting did not frail,
To catch her eye, to share a word,
In the library’s embrace, where dreams occurred.

But alas, it was not their destined fate,
As he watched her depart, heart in a state,
Longing for a second chance, a twist of time,
To rewrite their story, make it sublime.

And so, in the shadows of the library’s lore,
Their almost meeting, forevermore,
A wistful memory, a sigh in the night,
In the library where love took flight.

For though their paths may diverge once more,
In the tapestry of fate, their threads encore,
And perhaps, in some distant serendipitous rhyme,
Their almost meeting will blossom into time.

Almost Love: A Tale Untold in the Coffee Shop

In the heart of the bustling city’s embrace,
Lies a quaint coffee shop, a tranquil space,
Where fate’s delicate threads intertwine,
In a dance of chance, almost divine.

Two souls, unknown to each other’s gaze,
Drawn by the aroma, the caffeine’s blaze,
Each with a story, a longing untold,
In this coffee shop, their destinies unfold.

She, a vision of grace, with eyes aglow,
Lost in the pages of a book, a gentle flow,
He, a stranger in a world unknown,
Captivated by her presence, his heart’s own.

Their paths, destined to cross, it seemed,
In this sanctuary of dreams, they beamed,
But fate, in its infinite wisdom, had other plans,
And their meeting was left to chance’s hands.

As he approached, a nervous heart did beat,
With each step closer, fate’s cruel deceit,
For just as their eyes were poised to meet,
A sudden distraction, a timely feat.

A ringing phone, a barista’s call,
Interrupted the moment, the chance to enthrall,
And in that fleeting instant, they passed by,
Two ships in the night, beneath the sky.

She, unaware of his lingering gaze,
Lost in the words of her book’s maze,
He, regretful of what could have been,
In the silence of his thoughts, unseen.

Oh, how he wished for a different end,
For fate’s cruel twist, he could not mend,
To meet her gaze, to share a smile,
In that coffee shop, even just for a while.

But alas, it was not meant to be,
As he watched her leave, his heart in plea,
For a second chance, a twist of fate,
To rewrite the script, to change their state.

And so, in the quiet corners of his mind,
Their almost meeting, forever enshrined,
A bittersweet memory, a wishful sigh,
In the coffee shop where love did fly.

For though their paths may never again align,
In the tapestry of fate, their threads entwine,
And perhaps, in some distant future’s light,
Their almost meeting will turn to bright.

Jonah’s Journey

In the town of Willow Grove, where dreams unfold,
Lived a boy named Jonah, his story untold,
For within his slumber, a power lay,
To shape reality in an unexpected way.

Each night, as Jonah closed his eyes to rest,
His dreams took flight, a curious quest,
For whatever he dreamed, so it seemed,
Manifested in another’s reality, it gleamed.

At first, it was but a whimsical notion,
A mere coincidence, a curious potion,
But as time passed, the truth became clear,
Jonah’s dreams held a power to fear.

In the quiet corners of Willow Grove,
Whispers spread of Jonah’s gift, trove,
Some marveled at his seemingly divine touch,
While others feared it was too much.

For in the shadows lurked a figure unknown,
A silent watcher, with secrets of his own,
He knew of Jonah’s unique ability,
And sought to harness it with tenacity.

With each dream woven in Jonah’s mind,
The watcher’s schemes grew intertwined,
For he desired the power for his own gain,
To shape the world to his dark domain.

But Jonah, innocent and unaware,
Continued to dream, without a care,
Each night his visions danced and spun,
Unraveling destinies, one by one.

Yet as his dreams took on a darker hue,
The town of Willow Grove trembled anew,
For the watcher’s influence began to seep,
Into Jonah’s dreams, dark and deep.

A boy’s wish for a world of peace and light,
Became a nightmare, shrouded in fright,
For in another’s reality, twisted and torn,
The watcher’s darkness was reborn.

But amidst the shadows, a glimmer of hope,
As Jonah’s dreams began to elope,
From the grasp of the watcher’s hold,
A tale of courage and bravery untold.

For Jonah, with his innocent heart,
Refused to let his dreams depart,
He fought against the darkness within,
To reclaim the light, to make amends.

In the final showdown of dreams and fate,
Jonah confronted the watcher, who did wait,
And with a courage born of purest light,
He banished the darkness, ended the fight.

And so, in the town of Willow Grove,
A legend was born of courage and love,
Of a boy whose dreams shaped another’s fate,
Yet in the end, he chose to create.

For though his gift was both a blessing and curse,
Jonah’s heart remained pure, his spirit adverse,
To the darkness that sought to claim his power,
For in his dreams, he found his finest hour.

Echoes of Childhood

In the corridors of memory, I stroll,
Recalling days of innocence, my soul,
Longing to reclaim the joys of yore,
In the hallowed halls of learning, evermore.

Oh, to be a child again, carefree,
Amidst the bustling classrooms, I see,
Where chalk dust danced in the sunlit air,
And laughter echoed without a care.

In the embrace of youth, I found my place,
In the rhythm of each familiar face,
Teachers’ wisdom like a guiding light,
Leading us through knowledge’s endless flight.

The scent of old textbooks fills my mind,
As I wander through the past, refined,
Each page a treasure trove of memories dear,
Of lessons learned and friendships near.

Oh, how I yearn for recess’s call,
To play beneath the sky, unbound, enthralled,
Cricket matches on the dusty ground,
With shouts of joy that knew no bound.

The canteen’s aroma, a tantalizing tease,
Of samosas and chai, a childhood feast,
Shared with friends in moments pure and true,
In those fleeting hours, time withdrew.

But now, as a middle-aged engineer,
In the hustle and bustle, I find no cheer,
Forgone are the days of youthful glee,
Replaced by screens and monotony.

Yet still, within my heart, a longing burns,
For the simplicity of lessons learned,
For the camaraderie of classmates past,
And the innocence that forever lasts.

Oh, to relive those days, if only for a while,
To bask once more in childhood’s smile,
But time’s relentless march knows no end,
And so I reminisce, my heart on the mend.

For in the corridors of memory, I find solace,
In the echoes of laughter, a cherished embrace,
And though the years may come and go,
The joys of childhood forever glow.

A Dream of Everlasting Summer

In dreams, I weave a tapestry of endless days,
Where summer reigns supreme in sunlit blaze,
Eternal warmth upon the earth does lay,
And time itself in golden hues doth sway.

Oh, how I yearn for days that never wane,
Where daylight lingers, casting off all pain,
Infinite azure skies stretch overhead,
A canopy of bliss, where dreams are fed.

Forevermore the scent of flowers bloom,
Perpetual dance of bees amid perfume,
Each breeze a caress, a whispered sigh,
As nature’s splendor unfolds nigh.

No autumn chill to steal the verdant green,
Nor winter’s frost to mar the tranquil scene,
The world a paradise of endless glow,
Where time’s relentless march doth never show.

Oh, to dwell in this utopian embrace,
Where summer’s kiss leaves naught but grace,
To bask in sunlight’s ever-warming glow,
And feel its tender touch forever flow.

Eternal picnics in meadows lush and fair,
Underneath the shade of trees that care,
The laughter of loved ones echoing near,
In this timeless realm, there’s nary a fear.

The ocean sings its endless lullaby,
Underneath the never-setting sky,
Each wave a testament to endless time,
In this eternal summer’s paradisiacal clime.

But alas, such fantasies are but in vain,
For time’s relentless march shall never wane,
Yet still, within my heart, the dream shall last,
Of summer’s embrace that never is surpassed.

May

In whispered sighs of April’s twilight air,
Lies dormant longing, tender, yet aware,
For May, the harbinger of warmth and light,
A symphony of summer’s sweet delight.

Each dawn, the world in hushed anticipation,
Yearning for May’s grand proclamation,
As April’s rain gives way to sun’s embrace,
Nature’s canvas adorned with vibrant grace.

In verdant fields, where wildflowers bloom,
Eager hearts dispel all sense of gloom,
For May brings forth a kaleidoscope of hues,
As petals dance in the morning’s dews.

The sun ascends with golden rays unfurled,
Chasing away the remnants of a wintry world,
And in the hearts of those who cherish heat,
May’s arrival is an eagerly awaited feat.

The scent of jasmine on the balmy breeze,
Whispers promises of tranquil ease,
As the days grow longer, the nights more mild,
Summer’s embrace drawing closer, beguiled.

Oh, how the soul rejoices at the thought,
Of lazy days by riverside, in hammock caught,
Of picnics under azure skies so clear,
And laughter shared with those held dear.

The taste of strawberries, ripe and sweet,
Becomes a summer symphony, a delectable treat,
As May unfurls its warmth upon the land,
Guiding us with gentle, guiding hand.

The sea, a siren calling from afar,
Beckoning with waves that twinkle like a star,
Inviting us to lose ourselves in its embrace,
And find serenity in its boundless space.

With May’s arrival, anticipation swells,
As each day brings new stories it foretells,
Of adventures waiting to be unfurled,
In the embrace of summer, the most cherished world.

So let us greet May with open arms and hearts,
Embracing the season as it gently imparts,
Its gifts of sunshine, laughter, and play,
As we bask in the warmth of summer’s sway.

Evolving through Love

In the dance of love, each heart we meet,
A mirror reflecting, our soul’s sweet beat,
With every embrace, a new rhythm to greet,
In the symphony of love, our lives complete.

For each person we love, a lesson learned,
A flame ignited, a passion burned,
In their presence, our spirits yearned,
For the depths of love, we’ve eagerly turned.

With every love, a journey embarked,
A path of growth, in light and dark,
Each heartache endured, each spark,
A testament to love’s eternal mark.

In the eyes of each beloved, we see,
A reflection of who we long to be,
Their presence, a catalyst, setting us free,
To embrace the person we’re meant to be.

For every love brings out our best,
A strength uncovered, a soul at rest,
In their arms, we feel blessed,
To be loved, in ways we never guessed.

With every love, we bloom and grow,
In the garden of life, we sow,
Seeds of love, that steadily show,
The beauty of growth, in love’s soft glow.

So cherish each love, with all your might,
For in their embrace, we find our light,
In their love, our souls take flight,
Towards the horizon, shining bright.

The Dichotomy of Choice

In life’s grand tapestry, paths diverge,
Each choice a step, a winding surge,
Two roads unfurl, a silent urge,
Each decision, a destiny’s verge.

With each crossroad, a choice to make,
Two paths before, each with its stake,
One leads to dawn, one to heartache,
In the balance, our futures quake.

Each decision, a ripple in time,
A subtle shift, a rhythm’s chime,
In the fabric of fate, a paradigm,
As destinies entwine, in life’s climb.

Do we choose the road less known,
Or tread the path our hearts have shown,
In the choices made, our seeds are sown,
In the echoes of time, our dreams are grown.

Each step we take, a choice profound,
In the labyrinth of life, we’re bound,
To the consequences, we’re tightly wound,
As fate’s tapestry, weaves around.

In the quiet whispers of the night,
We contemplate, our inner light,
Two paths before, in plain sight,
In the shadows’ embrace, we take flight.

For every decision, a tale unfolds,
A chapter written, as life molds,
In the story of us, as time beholds,
The dance of destiny, as it enfolds.

So ponder well, before you choose,
For in every path, there’s much to lose,
Yet in every choice, there’s much to gain,
In the symphony of life, an eternal refrain.

Fading Threads

In the tapestry of time, friendships fray,
Threads once woven, now in disarray,
As life’s currents pull us astray,
Memories linger, in shades of gray.

Once, in the bloom of youth’s embrace,
We laughed and danced, in boundless grace,
But now, in the shadows’ solemn space,
Our paths diverge, without a trace.

In the symphony of life’s grand scheme,
We drift apart, like a fading dream,
As days turn to weeks, and weeks to a stream,
Our bond erodes, like a silent scream.

Yet amidst the cacophony of days,
A melody stirs, in unexpected ways,
A song, a scent, a fleeting gaze,
Awakens memories, in a silent haze.

I ponder then, with wistful sigh,
Where have they gone, those days gone by?
Do they too, in quietude, lie,
Wondering of moments passed awry?

Do they recall our laughter’s sound,
Or moments shared on solid ground?
Do they too, in silence, astound,
At how swiftly time can confound?

I wonder if they think of me,
In quiet moments, by the sea,
Or in the hum of life’s decree,
Do they too, in reverie, see?

Do they remember, as I do,
The bonds we forged, the skies we flew,
Or in the chaos of life’s brew,
Have memories faded, lost from view?

But in the silence of the night,
I hold onto memories, burning bright,
For though friendships fade from sight,
Their essence lingers, in the light.

So here’s to those, now far away,
Whose presence lingers, come what may,
In the recesses of memory’s sway,
Forever cherished, in life’s ballet.

First Semester

Upon the canvas of the sky, clouds gather,
A symphony of gray, like feathers of a dove,
As raindrops dance, in a rhythmic patter,
A melody of sorrow, a serenade of love.

In the embrace of the downpour’s song,
I find myself transported, before too long,
To the halls of academia, bustling and strong,
Where memories of the first semester belong.

In the midst of the rainy day’s embrace,
I’m carried back to that wondrous place,
Where dreams took flight, with boundless grace,
And challenges awaited, in every space.

In lecture halls, with minds ablaze,
We sat, eager, in the dawn’s first rays,
Absorbing knowledge, in myriad ways,
As professors guided, in wisdom’s maze.

In the library’s hushed sanctuary,
We delved into books, with minds unwary,
Exploring worlds, both old and airy,
In pursuit of knowledge, both bright and wary.

In dormitory rooms, with laughter’s swell,
We forged friendships, with tales to tell,
Sharing dreams, in which we dwell,
In the dance of youth, where hearts compel.

In the cafeteria’s bustling din,
We gathered, with plates piled high and thin,
Sharing meals, where bonds begin,
In the feast of friendship, hearts akin.

In the corridors, where footsteps tread,
We walked, with hopes and fears widespread,
Navigating life’s labyrinth, thread by thread,
In the journey of self, where paths are led.

In the quiet moments of study’s trance,
We reflected, on life’s fleeting chance,
Grasping truths, with hesitant glance,
In the quest for wisdom, we advance.

And in the rainy days that come and go,
I’m reminded of that time, long ago,
When life’s journey began to show,
The beauty and chaos, in its flow.

For in the rain’s gentle, soothing grace,
I find echoes of that sacred space,
Where dreams took root, without a trace,
In the first semester of life’s embrace.

Tales from Distant Shores

In a land far from familiar shores,
Where echoes of home softly implore,
I wander ‘neath foreign skies and more,
In a journey rich, yet heartsore.

Amidst the joys and sorrows vast,
I navigate a world so vast,
With each step taken, a die cast,
In this tale of present and past.

In the embrace of foreign lands,
I find solace in shifting sands,
But in my heart, a yearning expands,
For the touch of home’s gentle hands.

In bustling streets of distant towns,
I search for echoes of familiar sounds,
But in the din, my heart confounds,
Yearning for home’s sacred grounds.

In the taste of spices new and bold,
I find flavors of stories untold,
Yet in each bite, a memory’s hold,
Of meals shared in love, manifold.

In the beauty of landscapes grand,
I marvel at nature’s gentle hand,
But in their splendor, I understand,
The ache for home, a reprimand.

In the warmth of friendships forged,
I find comfort in souls converged,
But in their laughter, a truth submerged,
The longing for home, fully emerged.

In the embrace of a foreign tongue,
I struggle, yet still, I’m young,
For in each word, a song unsung,
Of the language of home, forever hung.

In the solitude of quiet nights,
I gaze at unfamiliar sights,
But in their darkness, a star ignites,
A beacon of home’s guiding lights.

In the rhythm of life’s ebb and flow,
I dance with shadows, to and fro,
But in their sway, a longing aglow,
For the steadiness of home’s gentle show.

In the challenges that test my might,
I persevere, with all my might,
But in their trials, a tear takes flight,
For the comfort of home’s guiding light.

In the triumphs that grace my way,
I celebrate, come what may,
But in their glory, a heart will sway,
Towards the embrace of home’s sweet bay.

So in this journey, far and wide,
I carry with me, by my side,
The joys and sorrows, true and tried,
Of being away, in lands untied.

But in the heart’s eternal flight,
I hold onto home, with all my might,
For in its love, I find my light,
Guiding me through the darkest night.

Lost in the Fair

In a fairground bustling with delight,
A boy wanders, lost in the vibrant light,
Amidst the laughter and the carousel’s flight,
He searches for home with all his might.

With cotton candy melting on his tongue,
He strolls amidst the crowds, still young,
His heart races, his fears strung,
In this maze of fun, his innocence sung.

Through rows of stalls with prizes gleaming,
He wanders, lost, his eyes streaming,
But deep within, a hope is beaming,
For in this chaos, he’s still dreaming.

In the midst of the Ferris wheel’s spin,
He feels a pang of worry within,
But with every step, a new begin,
As he searches for the way to win.

Through corridors of laughter and cheer,
He navigates, his path unclear,
But in his heart, there’s naught to fear,
For in the end, his loved ones are near.

Through tunnels of mirrors distorting,
He moves, his determination courting,
With every reflection, his resolve fort’ing,
In this labyrinth, his courage sporting.

With the scent of popcorn in the air,
He wanders, lost, yet unaware,
That fate has a plan beyond compare,
To lead him back from this despair.

Through alleys of games and merry-go-rounds,
He ventures, lost, his voice lost in sounds,
But in this chaos, hope still abounds,
As destiny weaves its intricate bounds.

And just when all seems lost and grim,
A familiar voice calls out to him,
His heart leaps with joy to the brim,
For in that moment, his world’s not dim.

With arms outstretched, his loved ones near,
He’s found at last, no longer in fear,
In their embrace, his vision clear,
For in their love, there’s naught to veer.

And so the boy lost in the fair,
Finds his way back, through love and care,
In this tale of chaos and despair,
Happiness triumphs, beyond compare.

Spring’s Promise

As spring approaches, the world begins to awaken,
The flowers bloom, and the birds sing sweet songs,
I plant a seed of hope in the soil of my heart,
Will you return with the season’s dawn?

In the warmth of the sun’s gentle embrace,
I find solace in the promise of new beginnings,
As nature’s cycle continues its dance,
Will you join me in this symphony of life’s unending chances?

The days grow longer, the nights less cold,
Yet memories of you, they never grow old,
I watch as the stars twinkle above,
Wondering if you’re seeing the same sky with love.

In the whispers of the evening breeze,
I hear echoes of our laughter with ease,
A reminder of the joy we once knew,
Can we rediscover it, me and you?

With each passing season, I hold onto hope,
That someday, together, we’ll learn to cope,
With the distance and time that keep us apart,
Can we mend the pieces of our fractured heart?

But if you choose a path different from mine,
Know that in my heart, you’ll forever shine,
For the bond we shared, though now it’s frayed,
Will always be cherished, never to fade.

Seventh Grade

In the land where mango trees sway,
A lad in seventh grade finds his way,
Amidst the bustle of school’s array,
He dreams beneath the sun’s warm ray.

With books in hand and dreams so high,
He gazes at the vast, endless sky,
In every lesson, he aims to fly,
To reach the stars, to touch the sky.

In corridors echoing with laughter,
He walks, his spirit soaring after,
Each challenge met, each chapter mastered,
His determination never faltered.

In cricket fields, his passion gleams,
He chases dreams, he chases dreams,
With every bat swing, life redeems,
In victory’s embrace, he beams.

But in the quiet of his room at night,
He dreams of futures shining bright,
Of breaking free from ordinary sight,
To paint his world with colors light.

For though he’s just a boy of twelve,
His spirit’s fire, it burns and swells,
In every challenge, he finds a delve,
To carve his path, to ring his bell.

So here’s to the lad in seventh grade,
With dreams like stars in night’s cascade,
May his journey be a grand parade,
As he walks the path that fate has made.

Second Grade

In the land where flowers bloom,
A boy in second grade finds his room,
In a world of wonder, he begins to groom,
His dreams like petals, ready to bloom.

With crayons bright and giggles pure,
He scribbles tales, his heart so sure,
In every drawing, he finds allure,
A world of magic, bright and pure.

In playgrounds filled with joyous cries,
He runs beneath the open skies,
With innocence gleaming in his eyes,
His laughter like a sweet sunrise.

In classrooms filled with alphabet dance,
He learns to read, he takes a chance,
In every word, a newfound trance,
A world of knowledge, his romance.

But in the silence of his bedtime tale,
He dreams of lands beyond the pale,
Of dragons fierce and knights so hale,
Where every dream sets sail.

For though he’s just a boy of seven,
His spirit dances, forever leaven,
In every moment, a taste of heaven,
A journey sweet, like bread unleavened.

So here’s to the boy in second grade,
With dreams like butterflies in a glade,
May his journey be a serenade,
As he walks the path that dreams have laid.

Through Seasons

In the whispers of autumn’s breeze,
We’ll dance beneath the amber trees,
Leaves cascading, swirling ’round,
Our laughter echoing, joy unbound.`

Hand in hand, we’ll stroll along,
In nature’s symphony, our hearts belong.
Through rustling branches, we’ll find our way,
In love’s embrace, come what may.

As winter’s chill begins to bite,
We’ll seek the warmth of love’s respite.
Wrapped in blankets, side by side,
Our love, a flame that cannot hide.

In springtime’s bloom, we’ll start anew,
With every petal, our love’s renew.
Beneath the blossoms, we’ll declare,
Our love, a bond beyond compare.

Summer’s heat will singe the air,
Yet in each other’s arms, we’ll fare.
Beneath the stars, we’ll make our bed,
Our love, a tale yet to be said.

Through seasons’ ebb and flow, we’ll roam,
In love’s embrace, we’ve found our home.
Oh, let’s just fall in love again,
For in your arms, my heart remains.

Dark Night

It is a dark night, the sky void of stars, the clouds lending a shade of grey to the black of the sky; much like the sky, that waits patiently for the moon, even as the clouds huddle together; do you remember the pictures where all the tall folks stood in front of us, the short ones, such that we were there and also not there, our memories lost in the pictures from long ago? The moon still shines and some of the clouds turn white, but there is a certain amount of tiredness, which only they can decipher, those who have been through the darkness and been able to shine despite the clouds in their mind; for the mind is often clouded with thoughts of the night, thoughts that come to us when there is only silence around us. For there is a rhythm to this silence, it ebbs and flows with our breaths, in and out, in and out, and the breaths transform into thoughts, into dreams of times when we had similar moments of silence in the past. And so it is, that in the dark of the night, we feel comfortable as our eyes adjust to the faint moonlight streaming in through our windows; a sense of familiarity, the smell of the flowers of the tree, slowly seeping in, substituting the overpowering smells of the people we know, and of the memories we wove.

I think of you, a shadow from the past, and you conjure up in front of me, a wisp of the wind, a familiar sound ringing in my ears, though all I hear is silence; silence, and a slight melody of the pitter-patter of the rain on the roof, it hums for a while, and I can hear it on the roof, as well as in the leaves that sway in the breeze; I listen intently as the drizzle turns into a pour, and turns back into a drizzle, as the breeze turns into a gale and back into a breeze; time flows, like a river, towards a certain sea, meandering along so many cities, and each city has a story; do you remember all the cities we visited together? And all the cities that were yet to be explored? I wonder if you’ve visited some of those places since then, if you went back and had coffee at the same café where we did; if you sat at the same bench where we spent our evening, looking at the sun as it set beyond the horizon, the sky turning from a blue to a red, then to a purple. Do you remember that night when it felt that it would not turn black at all? An infinite night, with infinite possibilities, so many paths that we could have chosen, do you also wonder if we chose the right path?

As much as I want to stay awake and think of all the things we might have been doing tonight if we were together, wakefulness now betrays me, as I slowly feel my eyes closing; betrayal is something of our nature, wouldn’t you say? We betrayed those around us and fled to the moon and beyond, imagining a life full of stars and solitude, dreaming of people who live far away and yet have the same dreams as us; it is a dark night still, and I see no escape from being consumed by it; the very nature of darkness forcing us to embrace our loneliness, ourselves, filling the void with its black of the night. But behold, stars appear now, I hear the creaking of wood floors below me, and although I know it is no one, it feels better to imagine someone walking up the stairs. Maybe it is just me, or maybe everyone craves some air to fill in this void? Do you also feel suffocated, even as you breathe the freshness of the morning breeze around you, the morning dew settling on your feet as you walk through the soft grass? Or do the fields feel thornier, full of hardships that you did not imagine to be tackling alone? These thoughts keep me awake tonight, a mind full of questions that no one has answers to; and I imagine if everyone thinks of these questions, but do not bring them up to each other, for fear of being laughed at, look he’s lost his mind they’d say, but silently acknowledge that we all are the same, battling the same battles, worrying the same worries, living the same lives?

Evening Coffee

I step out for a walk this evening; amidst the drizzle and the fresh smell of autumn, I make my way across the streets; the sky turning darker as every moment passes, the cool breeze lapping against my face like two friends meeting after years of separation. With my eyes closed, I take in deep breaths of the cold around me, and the clouds above gather together and turn darker. It is going to rain heavily tonight – I should make my way back home before it gets rainier. But right now, the weather is perfect, and every step that I take reminds me of stories with those who I walked with, long lost friends and strangers.

As the rain picks up in intensity, I make my way into the corner coffee shop. A bell rings as I enter, and the owner of the store, Abdul, comes out from one of the bigger shelves in the back of the store. “Hello,” he says, “Fine weather to have a coffee?” I pay for two coffees, and offer him one. He looks at me, surprised. “You know I can drink for free right? It is my store, after all.”  I smile at him, and he smiles back. Then he pulls a chair and sits down beside me, looking at his store through the eyes of a customer.

As I quietly sip on my coffee, he takes stock of his day. Abdul is an avid talker. He can talk for hours without needing a response. He tells me about the regulars at his store. He mentions that once a regular customer did not come in for three days, and that he went to their home to check in on them because he feared that something had happened to the old man who would never start his day without his coffee. Turned out he was under the weather and would recover soon, so he left a bag of coffee beans at his place so he could drink Abdul’s coffee. As he tells me the story, his eyes well up with pride on his coffee. Not a lot of people are successful in this area of town he says, with all the big cafés opening with their many amenities.

But the ones who come to his store do not come in for the amenities. They come here for his smile, and his genial conversations that he can strike up with anyone anytime. He is also the weatherman, news reporter, confidant, and financial advisor for a lot of his customers, though many a time he admits, his customers lose more money than they make. Still, it is hard to be upset with him, he jokes.

“Another coffee? Refills free today”, he says. “Need to finish the coffee before I close the store or have to throw it away”. I look at the time, and decide it would be a bad idea to drink another coffee; he looks at me kindly, and I say yes anyway. There goes my two hours of sleep at night, but who cares. He comes back with two cups of coffee, but doesn’t sit with me anymore. Instead, he begins cleaning up the store to prepare for closing. I sit there for a little longer, waiting for the rain to slow down. Finally, after a while, it slows down to a drizzle.

“Gotta go,” I say. “See you tomorrow,” he says, not looking back at me. And so it is, that I will see him tomorrow again. I cross the street and start heading back home. A few more people have now come out of their houses for their evening walks, or to walk their dogs. When you have a dog, it does not really matter how much it rains. You still need to come out for your daily walks. A few of the faces are familiar and they smile at me. I smile back at them, but do not stop to make more conversation. As I keep walking, I see her. I wish she would look at me, but tonight, she intentionally looks through me as though I do not exist. It’s alright, she will come around. Some other day, I think to myself. And then I make my way back home. By the time I enter the house, it has started raining heavily again, and I end up standing at the window for a while longer to breathe in the cool air.

And that was how I spent my evening today.

Letter on a Saturday

It is Saturday again. As I wake up to the chirping of the birds, there is a sense of calm around me. No noise. It is still early in the morning, though later in the day, this silence will be broken by the lawn mowers and garbage collection trucks that are invariably going to make their way into the alley, where right now, only a cat sleeps on top of the trash box. Hidden behind the thick curtain of clouds, the sun tries to shine, not strong enough to light up the window, but its rays make a faint shadow of the window on my floor, marking the beginning of my day.

I look around my room, and there is a pile of mail on my table. The mail came in late yesterday, and I did not get a chance to filter through those. It is always the same: a pile of advertisements, cheap clothes, cheap food, a pizza flyer, and some insurance deals. Today however,  a particular envelope catches my attention. It is addressed to me by name, and is written with a pen. I recognize the handwriting as familiar, but cannot place it. At the bottom right, I see her name. The wandering squirrel.

It was the pen name she used for her blog. We had collaborated for some posts many years ago, when blogs were still a thing. I look her up on the internet; the website has since been discontinued, the posts we wrote, the stories we weaved, all vanished from the internet like the clouds that were now disappearing from the sky, bringing in the blue of the sky and the brightness of the sun to my window. A generator that had been running for the past few hours stops, and it makes me realize that I had completely ignored that noise and had assumed it was just a part of my world. I look out the window, and the sun now glistens onto the river. It is a weird place, this house. On the west, there are the high-rises, some of the tallest buildings in this city, obstructing everything beyond it and making it feel like a box of buildings stacked up, neatly arranged to optimize for the most people in the least space, and feels like a page out of a dystopian novel. And on the east, where my eyes frequently rest on mornings like these, the river flows with its ebb and tide, the boats ferrying people to and from the dock, a mixture of tourists, workers, laborers, and high tech engineers.

What could she be writing about? I try to guess as I carefully slide my finger inside the envelope to tear it with the least damage possible. When did she move to this country? It had been almost five years since she moved here, so I must have met her around seven years ago, in a different land, in a different world. Was that the last time I met her? I try to think about that evening, my brain short-circuiting the details and filling in the pieces, adding bits of inaccuracy throughout my story. It was a cold evening, so it had probably been one late in the Fall, maybe October. As I think about the evening we met, my eyes scan the letter, trying to summarize it. I would probably read this a couple more times during the day to make more sense of it, to read between the lines, but for now, a summary is all I need.

“Hey”, she writes. She goes on to explain some of the current stuff in her life that I skim through. As she moves into the second paragraph, she introduces the main theme of her letter. She is getting married in November, and would like for me to attend her wedding. I try to imagine her in a white dress. Pictures of our graduation float up in the air in front of me, then vanish into thin air and my eyes gaze into the wall ahead, a white wall with some picture frames, of which none have her picture. I try to count the years it has been since I last saw her. It was probably six years ago, she was walking across the street from me. I did not muster up the courage to walk up to her, so I let it be. So much time has passed; I wonder where she got my address, though it would not be difficult to guess; we have only two common friends here in the States, both of whom know my address.

I open my phone and try to look her up on Instagram, hoping I will catch a picture of how she looks now. I try to imagine but the only pictures that come to me are from seven years ago; much must have changed since then. I hit a dead end with her private profile, and so I let it be. It was probably best I kept away from all of this. I get out of the bed and put a pot of coffee to boil. The trees on the west have almost turned red. The smell of fall mixes with the aroma of coffee and I am transported to a world where she and I sit together under a bench, in the autumn of a different country, sipping our coffees and interlocking our hands; she looks into my eyes and smiles, then rests her head on my shoulders. So much could have been different.

Morning Coffee

It was seven in the morning when I came back to my place. It took a bit of effort in finding my keys, but soon I was able to open the door and get in. I live in a small 400 square feet apartment. There was a strong smell of beer, mixed with a stench of what was probably yesterday’s dinner; I had ordered in some food from an Asian store nearby, they serve pretty generous amounts of ramen.

Although some would think my place is small, it actually feels quite big to me. Having lived alone for so many years, I find it easier to maintain a small place. I keep it very clean, almost as if the sanctity of my place reflects the calmness within me. However, a man also needs to earn something. And last year, after losing my job to the pandemic, I decided to rent out half of my apartment. I measured my living space and just halfway across, I placed a pair of curtains, a very dark shade of blue. I moved around some stuff to empty out the space, and put it out for subletting. It was not a lavish arrangement, and my hopes were to have someone rent that at any price they want, which could pay for some of my living expenses down the road.

After some days, I started getting applicants. Most of them would look at the place and turn away, the usual complaints being it was too small, or too dingy, or that the place smells a lot like a public toilet; which, by all means, is as false as it could be, since I clean the house practically every day, having not a lot of other things to do. Two weeks into this search, a man came by. He was short and dark, and for some reason, I felt an instant connection with him. His face reminded me of someone, someone I had once seen somewhere, and the face had an uncanny resemblance to him, though who that was, I could not remember anymore. His voice was deep, a bit deeper than mine. The winning feature, however, was that he looked strong enough to fend off burglars, contrasting to the feeble bone structure that I had.

“I am Tom,” he introduced himself. “I will pay you a hundred dollars more than what you have asked for. But I need to move in immediately.”

“Fine by me,” I said.

And just like that, I had found a new roommate.

That was ten months ago. It seemed for a while that he was a nice guy; he stayed on the other side of the curtains, and sometimes even shared his food with me on nights when I did not feel like cooking. He had a crooked smile, and it reminded me of the time I smiled similarly because of a tooth infection. Did he have a tooth infection, I asked? He said he did not have one. We did not speak on the subject after that.

Today, however, I despise the man. He is better than me at almost everything, including the one place where I never found much luck: women. As I climb onto my bed, I can hear his bed creaking and the moaning just beside me. He has brought another woman again, and as they end up in their climax, I do too. A shameful indulgence. Everything goes silent for a while, and then I hear some noises in the kitchen now. He has drawn the curtains aside, so that the sunlight falls on my eyes and blinds me for a moment.

I get up and pull the curtains again, making the room dark as it was. I look around now, clothes flung around on the chairs, some socks lying around the couch; a trash bag filled with beer bottles just beside the door, along with a pizza box. I wonder when this area was last cleaned. I put the kettle on, warm some water and gulp it down. Then I go and open the windows, sifting through a layer of dust, and inhale the fresh morning air. I hear a humming from the kitchen, a tune I have ever so often heard but fail to place the source.

I walk into the kitchen, pretending it to be a coincidence, but my real wish is to see the woman who was just moaning. Is she good? Is she beautiful? He brings around all kinds of women, so for me, this exploration is a fascinating part of the morning. I enter the kitchen and she looks at me. Our eyes meet. She smiles at me and says, “You are back.”

Why does this look so familiar? Why do I feel I have seen her before? I have definitely seen her before. I try to press my mind deeper into where I met her the last time. Now I remember, it was a few years ago, something about a café, we were drinking coffee. No, that wasn’t it. Something about a wedding. Yes, it was definitely a wedding; she was there, and I was there too. Who was getting married? Well, not important.

“I know you, I have seen you somewhere,” I tell her.

“I have put on a pot of coffee for you, would you like some?” she asks.

And then it all strikes to me. For a moment, I remember the walks in the parks, the movie nights together, dinners at fancy restaurants, hiking through mountains, and flights to distant countries. I remember kisses and fights, and the warmth of love. The moment passes, and it all vanishes.

“We were lovers,” I say. She smiles back, affirming my thoughts.

Why was she here, after all these years, in bed with someone else? I wanted to shout, be angry, but I could not form the words. All I could come up with was, “So are you with him now?”

She looked at me, her eyes slightly moist.

“Are you hallucinating again, dear husband?” she says.

“Don’t you put it on me. Why the hell are you sleeping with Tom?”, I ask.

“There you are again. There is no Tom dear, we have been married for ten years now, it is just you and me. You must be tired, you were out all night. Here, drink this. You will feel better,” she says.

“We are not married,” I protest, drinking the coffee she pours into my cup.

As the coffee goes down my throat, I feel my throat constricting, my eyes closing in, and the world around me becoming darker moment by moment.

I cannot see clearly anymore. “What have you given me?” I ask.

“It will all be fine,” she says, and I drift into my dreams. I can feel it though, she is walking back to Tom, and now they are both looking at me, and smiling at each other.

The Alley

There is sometimes an obsession, bordering on the line of guilt, to be alone and in silence, without the eyes of anyone on the work you do or the life you live. You are the only one on this planet and the world is contained within you; you are one with the world, with the universe as it is. And that the sole purpose of this life is to have no purpose, for you are here for eternity as long as the world is alive. For you have the power to diminish this universe to a thought and flick it around, were you to do it, but you would not. You understand the responsibility that comes with the power, and all that is living in it, living within you, much as the child that is born from you, that comes into this world and goes from this world.

That is perhaps the almighty power that someone might care for, that someone might want, and be obsessed with it forever. For him, it does not matter if or not the day follows the night, or if the sun follows the rain. All that matters in this tiny shell within which he lives, is if he is able to control his desires, and on his whims repress them, surface them, or amplify or diminish them. Feelings are but another dimension of his world which he can carve out on his will. And for those that he suggests that those feelings be missing, he can coin stoic words that make them feel proud of their non-feelings, a paradoxical world in which some have lost the capacity of feeling, and yet feel the absence of it deeply.

Were such thoughts to come to me, I would have been horrified at the premise, at the suggestion that we are in fact, capable of such acts, as to withdraw the feelings from someone else. But for the woman who has been smothered with love, suffocated to the point where she is not sure if breathing would help or harm her, who looks into the fire and sees the shadows of those who taught her how to love, but alas, forgot to teach her how not to love, so that now she is swaying like a pendulum between extremities, love and hate, fire and ice, being burned in the morning and still freezing in the winter night; if you would ask her if it is possible that one man holds the key to everything that is dear to her: her life, her love, her thoughts, wishes, dreams; she would look at you with her empty eyes, eyes too tired to respond back to your loaded question. She would look at you deeply and make you feel uncomfortable until you take your eyes off her and flee the scene into one of the dark alleys around the corner.

And when you reach the depth of the alleys, with no lights shining except the moonlight falling on patches of water on the sides, you would look up, and when you see the moon in its thin crescent trying to light up the darkest parts of the town, you would remember the fading lamp that you had seen in her hands, the lamp trying its best but illuminating nothing but her eyes; and her eyes would glare back at you, promising to tell you all the stories that you have wanted to know, all the darkness that you have attempted to kill, all the alleys that you have attempted to cross, splashing water across as you jump and run, trying to make it out as soon as possible.

But the alley is never-ending, the darkness is never-ending, and soon you realize you are stuck in the maze with no clue of how to get out, and the moon cannot guide you out because it looks the same from everywhere. The only clues you get are some pictures hanging on the walls of the maze, memories from your life, memories that you had erased from your mind; only to realize that they have found a new place now, on the walls of this maze, and you touch them but the papers crumble down; weathered by the heat and the rains, they were not kept as safely as you had kept them in your mind, but now it is an irreversible path, you cannot bring back those you have lost, and the darkness engulfs the walls once again, and all you have is the moon to guide you, deeper and deeper, with no way out.

Metamorphosis

A summer night,
And after so many years, I sit down to write to you,
A thought that has been troubling me of late,
Would you recognize me if I were to,
Come up to you as I am today?

Time changes how the river flows,
The rocks on the mountains,
Today are pebbles in the sea,
I pick one up as it comes to the shore,
Wondering if the mountain misses his rocks,
Knowing that he can never get back,
What once belonged to him.

I laugh at that thought,
For isn’t it true, that mountains will crumble too,
And mix with the sea one day?
Is not everything in the present,
Just in the present, and every fleeting moment,
Changing the world around me in myriad ways?

The air I breathed in, is not of the world anymore.
And I feel my feet wearing off,
As I walk the sands tirelessly.
There is no end to the sands, do you know?
They were all mountains once.

Memories, much like the air,
Forever changing, so much that our minds,
Filling up the missing gaps,
Make them into stories that were never really told,
And actions, that were never really taken.

So if I were to come up to you,
And ask you if you would rather hate me,
For what I was,
Or try to fall in love with me,
For what I have become,
What would you say?

Lost

On some days, the mornings are the worst. I wake up feeling lost in this world; no one to hold, no one to see, no one to listen to. The emptiness in my heart complements the emptiness in my house, and a thousand chirps of the birds outside cannot fill the void within.

Those are the days I don’t want to wake up at all. I want to sleep and go back in my dreams, to a world where things are better, where love is abundant, where people’s hearts house hope in them, where apathy is unbeknownst to those around me.

I dream of a world with all the same people that I hang out with, with all the same things that we do. I do not desire new avenues or adventures, and I do not crave for experiences absent from this world. All I wish for is some love to be shown towards me. In my dreams, love comes unconditionally, in various forms and shapes.

When people smile, I wish to see the ingenuity in them. When they come to me with questions, I do not want to solve it for them. I wish to be empathetic, try to help them solve their questions on their own, and be there for them. That is the world I wish to live in.

And when I come back home, I wish I could see her. But in my dreams, she comes back and wants to see me too. We smile and make love, and the world around me goes dark and the only thing I can see are her eyes. But then the dream breaks, as shattered glass on mirrors, reflecting light in weird ways so that your face appears contorted, revealing the truth; if even the shattered glass can show the world your true face, how do you think you’ll manage to keep it hidden for long?

But I don’t have anything to hide, do I? I want to wake up now, wake up to a morning where I don’t feel lost anymore, when the window brings in hope and love along with the sunlight, and brings in compassion and empathy along with the rains, so that I can soak myself in them, bask in all the feelings, and feel complete once more. Or be lost in it with you.

Uninvited

I sat amidst the noise, everyone talking to everyone, no one really listening; everyone trying to explain how their life had been challenging, interesting, demanding, difficult. No one seemed to have had their lives easy. Everyone had faced hardships, struggled in the wake of it, and overcame obstacles.

Even the kids. Listening to them talk, I realized how everyone in this room felt they were deprived of happiness. They were smiling, speaking with their friends, catching up on lost time; it surely seemed like something to be happy about. I was happy. I was here to meet no one. But as I looked through the crowd, I saw many familiar faces. It felt as if I had met them in another lifetime, in another world, where they had described to me how they were happy with what they had.

It was sunny today. That was another reason to be happy. The snow had thawed, and although in some nooks and crannies under the shade of the fire escape stairs one could still spot a lump of ice, waiting patiently for the summer, the sky above shone blue with the sun blazing wild.

I take in a deep breath. I am sitting in a room that is usually a lobby of a building, but has today been transformed into a make-shift cafeteria to serve lunch to everyone present here. Old and young.

As my eyes scanned through the place, the oddities stood out. The elderly talked only with the elderly, and the kids hanging out only with kids. The elders still had my accent, been brought up in another part of the world and immigrated here in hopes and dreams. Dreams to live in a better world. Dreams to love in a better world. Their contented faces make me feel that they achieved what they came for.

The kids on the other hand, had the usual foreign accent that I never caught up to. It seemed to fit them well, just like imported T shirts which you’ve never imagined you’d wear but once you wear them, they fit so well as if they were custom-made for you. I stop looking at everyone, close my eyes and take in a deep breath, inhaling everything around me. Along with the smell of the food cooking in the kitchen, and the scents of the people huddled near me, unaware that I am present, I smell pretense, I smell impatience. I look into the eyes of the boy beside me. He doesn’t look at me, but his eyes tell me his story.

He tells me he feels awkward speaking to me because he doesn’t know me. He says he thinks if he tried, he would probably understand me too. I look at him now, he has my full attention. When he realizes I want to listen to his story, he gets nervous. No one has paid so much attention to him. He coils back into his world, his eyes betraying his thoughts, and I stop looking at him, leaving him to his own. Maybe his world isn’t ready for me yet.

I look up and see that a queue has formed now. It is a short queue now, and now it is already getting longer. It is as if everyone was waiting for the first person to get in line. Once it starts, it is a domino, people piling up against each other, racing to be the first to get in line, but only moments ago no one wanted to be the first. Everyone is lining up for lunch. There’s a faint smile on everyone’s face now. Apart from one kid who is shouting in exhilaration. In this part of the universe, food unites people.

I walk slowly and get in line. A couple more people join behind me. Soon the line is served. I make small talk with the servers. They are varied in age; the kids seem especially excited to be helping their parents in serving the people. Maybe there is a ray of hope and happiness that we find in helping each other.

I eat my meal in solitude and start walking back. It is a short walk on a steep hill to reach the bus station. At the bus station I plug on my headphones ready to listen to a podcast. A Korean girl comes and stands beside me but I pay her no heed. Soon she is waving at me, gesturing to remove the headphones. I look at her, wondering if she is interested in a conversation or if she just has a question. I cannot make that out from her smile. It is inviting, but too often it is the same.

I take off my headphones. The podcast is still playing in the background. She says her battery is dead so could I tell her where her bus would come. I ask her where she wants to go, and it turns out to be in the opposite direction, as often happens, people meeting only to go opposite ways; I show her the way. She starts walking away but it starts raining, so she runs. It snows for a moment but then the rain is gone. The sun comes out again. I patiently wait for my bus to arrive.

Looking back, it wasn’t a bad day after all. In the bus, everyone is talking to everyone, no one really listening. I listen to all and one for a while, but no one is really talking to me, so I stop eavesdropping. I put on my headphones, and swap my podcasts with music. Then as the world carries on draining its life, I melt into my dreams like the snow on the streets.

Paper Boats

The brook gurgles beside, and I sit with a paper in my hand,
Wondering what I could possibly write that could change your mind,
So I write, “I miss you, come back please?”, and make a paper boat out of it,
Does this brook run through where you live?

The breeze turns into a stronger wind, and I sit with a paper in my hand,
Wondering what I could say in defense of all my mistakes,
So I write, “I am sorry, honestly, truly,” and make a paper plane out of it,
Does this wind blow towards your house?

The trees bear leaves a shade of orange, like your favorite dress,
I sit on a bench, one where we used to sit not so long ago,
And run my hand through the cold iron handle where your hand would have been,
Will you come to sit here this fall?

The narrow lanes so full of leaves, and winter is nigh,
Soon they’ll be painted white, a layer of ice warmer than your breath,
I would do anything that you asked of me,
Would you come back to this world?

Eternal Love

A high cliff, I stand there straight,
A dead end, time makes me wait,
I look at the skies,
Fathoming the emptiness beyond.

An eagle flies high,
The king of the sky,
Never cared about who else could fly,
We learned from them,
Made jets and planes,
And when the work was done,
Killed them ruthlessly,
Shooting gratitude in the heart.

The breeze is noisy,
The time is ripe,
I can try to fly, and fall,
Far down to the river that flows,
And no one would know,
But Death and Me.

No, that is not the path,
That I must take,
I hear a car screeching to brake.
She comes out, all rich and tidy.
I look at her,
The love of my life,
And think about how times have changed.

I think of the day,
When I first met her,
The ashes in my mouth,
Turn to a red rose for a moment,
Then disappear as she takes off her shades,
And I see the wrath in her eyes.

For the first time in these years,
I am unsure of my step,
The paths ahead seem hazy;
“Would you like to be with me forever?”
I ask her.

She looks at me with dead eyes,
Says “Yes” as a matter of fact;
I can smell the nonchalance,
The ignominy she faces in being with me.

No, this must come to an end.

I cannot let her suffer for being with me;
This cannot go on.
I ask her to walk with me to the cliff,
We look at the skies and we look at the river.
I tell her, “It’s your choice.”

She looks at me with her silent eyes,
I look into her eyes, “I can live without you,
Do you want that?”
She feigns a heavy heart, says “Yes”,
And continues with some more,
I have stopped hearing though.

My hands clench tight,
I ask my heart, does it think it can see,
Her with another man?
My heart replies, and I smile at her,
She seems nonplussed but smiles back.

I take a step back,
Then stumble onto her,
And look down the cliff,
Until I can’t hear her shriek anymore.
She would be remembered.