That Fluttering of Broken Wings

If you were to cross the road and hurt your toe, I know that I will never know. As we go on to take different roads and move on across different shores, there is something that happens to our relationships. Something that estranges, disconnects, disintegrates.

I know that you still think of me. I know this because I find myself thinking about you. And thoughts rarely get seeded on their own. It comes from you to I and from I to you until one of us is alive.

Old relationships rarely die. Like broken winged moths, they hang around dark alleys of forgotten memory lanes. Ever so often, I can hear one of them flutter its wings. Not too close but never too far.

Old Memories Die Hard

There was this blue train that used to run through yellow fields of mustard. I also remember green Paddy fields dotted with greasy diesel pumps, scarecrows and peacocks. But that was a long time ago. Maybe my memory plays truant with me. Maybe the fields were not all that green and the train all that blue.
But pray don't tell me that those were not fields of mustard and that was not I riding that train and you traveling with me.

Stupid Poets

The unrelenting tides of time shall consume us slowly with its up's and down's. There will times when we find ourselves riding the waves and there will be times wherein we drown.

Why do leaves fall in Autumn? You will ask me someday, and I shall say, these are springtime tears that plodded through summer until the fear of winter drove them away!!

Stupid Poets!!! You will say... and then as usual, run away.