Moonlight..

Commanding silence, and hushing the trembling wind

Oh! Moonlight, stealthily as a camouflaged fiend,

you descend the bars of what shows the other side

With playful grace and almost wounded pride.

You do dare to grace the consuming space

Attempting to enlighten it into some haloing place

Failing tirelessly, tumbling in bounds;

Don't you know? Both of you stand accused on similar grounds!

Drawn curtains, haven't I?

Exhaled blinded hopes and concluding sighs?

Why the tickle of light into darkness then?

Why breathing life in dreams again?

Shedding a different light on things,

Heaped they were, heaped as inanimate beings!

With flaring eyes and luring scent there they stand,

Like a dangerous drug, even sight of which is banned!

A busy road.. or not really?

A busy road.. or not really? The weight of various people that tread on it everyday somehow imbibed along the crevices of the tram lines that traversed it horizontally. A long day it has been, the north eastern corner of the sky almost seemed flush by heat, almost weary of it. Dark crimson giving into more of darkness. A light breeze attempted to soothe the sky, leaves trembled, a witness to its passion. He stood enraptured by the turbulent stillness around him, enjoying the reverberations below his feet in sync with the drained out tram.. yet he registered none of it, a crumpled piece of paper caught at the edge of one of the tracks caught his eye. He lowered himself, picking it up.


He could not help but be at awe of the neat cursive yet pacy handwriting on the paper, despite it being covered by mud and even shoe-prints. Verses. A few verses on this trampled and forlorn piece of thing immediately had his attention. He started reading it, a conscious effort to take in words, register them, to not let his concentration waver.

A chanced morning, in an unknown road

That triggered notes, which tune my soul old..

Is it the warmth of the winter sun,

or the tireless river amalgamating into the mist?

Or is it the forgotten face from childhood,

That had sought refuge in lines and their gist?

It might even be an evening nestled in the hustle of the city,

or the reminder of time, the watch on  his wrist?

A chanced morning, in an unknown road
That triggered notes, which tune my soul old..

He sighed deeply, looking up, his eyes glistened in the moonlight. Too overwhelmed he was, hit was he, by the past. Words capture time, they had they said. Never had they said, that they could keep us under the illusion that we could travel back in time too. A moment in these words, one which the tram-line was a part too, now he was sucked into it too. A moment that was lost, he got to live again. He got to live two moments though, one that someone else painted for him, and the one that his fate did. A shiver ran down his spine, leaving him weak at the edges. He folded the paper neatly and put it in his pocket. His eyes trying to search the dark, a trapdoor to his past. With unsure steps forward he started dwindling from sight, as if lost in the embrace of an old friend, away from harm. The road was empty again.

A busy road.. or not really?