Decades surpass and lives are lived. Bodies perish and souls reborn. Timelessness graces mankind and history hides in obscurity.
And within all of it, mankind wanders. Circumnavigates shores called 'Epiphanies' from shores named 'Memoirs', again and again and again. Yet he never hauls an anchor.
Converses to his own self, Perceives truth hidden beneath layers, Listens to voices that scar, Runs from demons inhabiting vulnerable minds, Chases an utopia called happiness, Fools sepia turned dreams, Reconciles for less, Denies letting go.
Tomorrow may not be a new day. For the sun that will shine on my picket fence will be the same. The wind that will sway the maple tree will blow the solitary leaf. The roads I walk will not change their routes. The face that stares at me when I look at the mirror will not alter its contours.
But its going to be a different day. The sun is going to pour abundance, the winds will usher peace, souls are going to fly and history will get a new era. We have raised our kids well.
P.S: I went to Deviantart and this wonderful pic is the first thing I laid my eyes upon. Divine intervention or what?! I dont think there can be a more apt image that will do justice with what this post wants to convey. Thnx Forfeit for this wonderful creation!
It was this one journey and who knew how long before they got a chance like this again. So they spent the entire night in the bus that was coming back to Bangalore from Chennai overnight; talking, like old friends; something they had not done in a long long time and never realized it until then.
They reached the station at four am, and instead of hailing a cab like they were supposed to they thought they could wait there until day break so they spent some more time together before work forced them to stay away for another entire week. As luck would have it the chairs in the waiting area in the Bangalore City Junction had somehow miraculously disappeared, so they were forced to wait in the platform.
A December night, in the platform of a train station with their luggage in between and a boy and girl on the two ends of a bench, bundled up in sweaters and scarves and jackets and gloves, the wind lightly breezing past and paper cups of tea in their hands, they spent the next two hours chatting. Childhood anecdotes, old forgotten friends, the national camp at Simla where they had met for the first time fifteen years back and became friends. It was like two friends meeting after eons over a cup of coffee and catching up on nostalgia. Before they could realize the dawn was breaking on the far end of the horizon.
The same morning as she reached her pad, freshened up and got to bed to grab some sleep before rushing to work, her phone beeped and she got a text.
"This morning on the platform, having tea in a paper cup, and your laugh echoing in my head, I realized. People spend their lives searching for soulmates, and God put you in my arms even before I knew what soulmates are. And when I came to know finally, there you were, in front of my eyes with this placard in your hands that said, 'Your soulmate' "
A little birdie tells me, when you arrived the pixies were busy fetching autumn colors to the isle. Little did they discern, that while they bustled about; somewhere in the anonymity of you from I and us from life. You aura warmed up to me. And crayon filled my life, long before I knew. So long before I knew.
"Donot stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there,I did not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle morning rain.
When you awaken in the morning hush,
I am the swift uplifitng rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight,
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Donot stand at my grave and cry.
I am not there,I did not die."