Those days

 

Do you still look back

And wonder?

What if…

I hope not, for

The fabric on which we painted

Has changed,

Just as much as the colours

And the painters.

There is no room

For continuity,

There is no space

For comparison.

The book that ended

Needs no chapters

That were never supposed

To be written.

 

Do you still look back

And despair?

Why at all…

I hope not, for

The pain of youthfulness

Was mutual

So was the void

In our need for attention

That had no room

For one drop of emptiness;

It has taken us this long

To understand

These worlds are but

Seas of loneliness

Where even our ignorance

Were bubbles of nectar lost

 

I sigh, but I do hope

You look back even today

And Smile –

At drops of petrichor

That was our first rain;

I hope you laugh

To remind yourself

Of your sonorous peals

That echoed through

The hollows

Of my emptiness;

I hope you curl your tresses

To hide your tears

When Tagore would resonate

In the deepest caverns

Of your heart

 

Just as I look back

And find joys -

Hidden, subtle,

In the dogeared pages

Of your musty books.

I have forgiven myself

But not forgotten ourselves,

Choosing sunset skies

On cloudy days

And thunderstorms

On a parched day

I have carefully wrapped both

To change my seasons

And be a weathermaker

Who couldn’t prepare

The vagaries of a yesterday

 

If the clouds

Of my minstrel songs

Ever reach you,

I hope they make you smile.

For that was all

We were meant to be -

A song of a distant memory,

With forgotten lines

But a familiar hum.

That is all there is –

For, what are

A few lost yesterdays

In a decade of songs we never sang,

And what are

A few lost decades?

In the unsung arc of our Eternity …