As I walk into this room,
An inevitable feeling of retrospect
Befalls me. I behold all
That has never been there. You—
...
Is the clock ticking forward or
Backwards! Every day,
I meet, greet and treat
People caressingly. Next day—they
...
All the walks,
All the talks,
Hand in hand,
How we explored land after land.
...
How I sit
ruefully alone today,
and contemplate people
who vanish after saying,
...
I stood waiting for you at
The crossroad of separation.
Springs, too many, shone in the skies
And the suns kissed the mountains
...
Understanding doesn't need any acquaintance.)
An Incarcerated Room
As I walk into this room,
An inevitable feeling of retrospect
Befalls me. I behold all
That has never been there. You—
Your pictures, your talks, your laugh,
Your sharing of a cup of tea with me.
I behold it all. I sit beside the window
Keeping it ajar, contemplate people
Who are far and really, really far.
Things have occurred like you have—
Only in memories. I have stopped talking to you,
Since people call it schizophrenia.
As I now behold the room,
I get imbued with gloom.
Because there ain't any room.
The box I ecstatically call my room,
Seems like my incarcerated doom.
Wounded birds don't come back to the place from where they get the wound.
The happiest moments often leave behind the saddest memories.