The year, when everything went wrong..

The title of the post, except for ' year' replaced by 'day', is one of the earliest essays written in those primary school times. Composed on a lighter note, it somehow still tickles a funny bone, being the most hilarious thing I ever penned on an exam paper. But, such events, perhaps, continue to be amusing only when it lasts for, 'a day'. For it can be awful and rather devastatingly painful to live a year, when everything and everyday you dare to go through, turns wrong, and nothing continues to remain hilarious or tickle the optimism in you by the slightest measure. The year just gone by has been a debacle from every possible angle of perception and it wouldn't have been anything but my blog for which I am going through the distressing year once again all over.

Anything written about 2009, would be incomplete without the apparition that occurred to me towards the end of 2008, intuitively indicating the times ahead to be difficult. Startlingly enough, the early days turned out to be a complete contradiction, going on to become indeed one of the best phases of my life. Our three nights four days in Vizag will always remain a treasure and it can potentially make me sob for days to come. As of now, I'll possibly never come over the rivetting deja vu of those mountains, beaches, forests, caves, train journeys, tunnels, hotel rooms, terrace, laughter, dinners..and I can literally go on an on about how terribly I want those five days back into my life in a permanent format..so as to slip into them whenever life becomes unlivable in its native form. Idiosyncratically, they fled past sooner than they arrived and were thankfully followed by our third semester results, which happened to be well. Luckily enough, they got better than its preceding ones, still better than my expectations and incomparably better than what subsequently came up. The next three quarters of the year, had been diametrically opposite to the first few months and I no more wonder how things could have turned so miserably wrong. Only that I always, more or less, believed that morning somehow, does show the day...till this year happened with my life.

The fourth semester exams followed hand-in-hand with some catastrophic results, giving way to heightened unrest at home front. Possibilities of a chance recovery were waning away faster than the vigour of the Leftists in Bengal, leaving me with no odds against pitifully suffering from hopelessness and hairloss. I put on weight, grew tired of ambitions, and God knows how many thousands of times, broke up. To boot that, my cellphone ceased working every alternate day and PC got dysfunctional, thankfully, just twice! I started about five novels, none of which I could conclude with and the fifth semster immunology chapters had myself perfectly screwed up. The year exasperated in every sense possible and I couldn't ask for anything from it, but to give up.

I was yet to get maddened anymore, when winters arrived bang in the middle of my exams, showing somewhat hope of surviving the year. Dec-end had been wonderful with Christmas parties and New year, which made me not quite mind the fifteen marks I disgracefully left incomplete on my exam paper. The year concluded on a vastly cheerful note than it had been throughout, and if all is really well that ends well and myths are to be believed, 2009 for me, may someday possibly turn out to be a year, unconventionally though, living worthwhile.

P.S.:- Happy new year to everyone out there..Have a great year ahead.

Sonnet to thy soul..

You travelled the corridors of my soul
When the dead hour struck nightfall
And enfolded the love pining for thee..
In thy silence, that says it all.
You whispered to me thou tales of winter
And hummed the nightingale's song
Within scarlet confines of thy heart
Sheltered me all night long
You held me across the realms of truth
To where moonlight stays by the day
Closed the eyes of the princess within,
And let her dream away..
You kept her from the canopy of pallor, till solitude stormed a clout
And beheld the princess cling to her dreams, till time had run out.

Winters, wreaths and wishes

Christmas yet again, idiosyncratic of good times, zoomed past the city in what seemed like seconds. And it has been yet another day to etch somewhere in between the countless memories that'll make me love this life for ages. I must admit, that it started as a nightmare..and ended with an unpredictably delightful climax, the details of which I do not wish to give out in my blog. But amidst everything, the high point of the yuletide celebrations had to be the coveted surprise gift I received, that absolutely made my day.

Winter is back with its colours to the city's nest, which rested on me as another excuse to coax mom to get me a long woollen overcoat in blue. Strangely enough, for the last couple of years, I find myself getting obsessively smitten by cardigans, or winterwear in that case, to be loaded with literally dozens of them in a few year's hence. And I do not wish to see any prospective vent for overcoming this obsession, living in a city where one can literally make the most of this spell. I've always believed Calcutta to be one of the cities, globally, to enjoy the most beautiful examples of winter season..way better than the Delhi chill that leaves one shrouded under comical monkey caps, or the hints of a winter season in Bombay that can make woollen pullovers a matter of shame. But apart from the season itself, the other snippets of celebrations that completed my day had to be me, trying a hand at origami, making paper wreaths from my grandmother's Christmas editions of origami books. And lastly, I loved myself hugely in the Santa look and was utterly mesmerised by Paulo's Angels.

p.s.:- Hope everyone had a great Christmas..with sincere wishes of having more of good times ahead.

Growth pangs..and Christmas eve

Exams finally got over after what seemed like eternity. And being truest to my ownself, they failed to meet up to the expections concerning them at any length. Probably that's what kept me from blogging, till almost a week after our fifth semester concluded with itself...that feeling of atonement, inevitable after shrouding a well "dreamt" career, literally for long, under layers of negligence. And amidst amends, I can't wait for this dreadful year to come to an end. No words minced, 2009 made me see through the worst of times, if 'worst' is indeed the superlative term for something so despicable. And its because of a handful of pleasurable phases woven in between this otherwise-horrible-nightmare of 365 days, that made me survive so close to its end. As of now, snippets of Christmas, and whiff of a new year hanging loose in the air, is one of such phases which'll possibly help me make it to yet another week, till the year finally ends.

Its Christmas eve today, and this time, it has been different. I've always refused to believe that anything in this world can match the nostalgia connecting me with my city more than the one encircling Durga Puja. And I can literally go on and on regarding how deadly the feeling can be, to stay away from home during the festive autumn season. Winter, probably, has never been famous for festivities, which literally, comes coupled with idol worship, has it? Its probably a period when people do not dread going out in the Sun lest they might end up within an envelope of sweat. And of course when a New year is imminent, that makes you amnesiac of all the shits life has thrown upon in the year just-spent, letting you see the most of hope and optimism for unfathomable reasons. But, somehow or else, I happened to get nostalgic today. Unexpectedly enough, I found myself missing the days I pined to visit the Park Street of Christmas..the Park Street which lost its vigour somewhere between the tiring miles walked towards college. Or the nights I hung socks in the window, filling them with anticipations and infantile enthusiasm. For some reason, I couldn't help requesting dad today to keep a surprise waiting for me in the window when I wake up this Christmas, followed by earnest persuasions to get atleast something..maybe even a Santa cap..disguised as a surprise. Sadly enough, nothing of that kind happened, and I was nonchalantly handed over a fruit cake on Christmas eve itself, with a sermon that I should try growing up someday. Growing up, well then, possibly happens this way. Its about the processes that robs you of your abilities to wish crazy or letting nostalgia get the better of you. Somewhere deep down, I sincerely wish to voice my hatred against the science behind ageing some other morning, not today. And all the more, yearn to live a grown-up life sometime hence, only to come reversibly back to my normal self. Till then, its Christmas time yet again, and I had to buy a Santa cap for a whopping 45 bucks to satiate myself.

P.S.:- This, for sure, is a lousy post..but somehow couldn't help writing down the same.Merry Christmas to everyone out there.

November Rain..

Its seemingly feeling like decades after I had last tended to my blog. Perhaps exams do this to oneself..that I kept coming on and off the 'line' for the past one-and-a-half months only to rummage fruitlessly through some social networking sites, scribbling nonsense that led me nowhere. And tried keeping up the best of my efforts to hope to be back again on some fine morning at my literary best. Somewhere down the line, I wonder, whether I really should have taken up microbio in graduation. Or science in the first place. For nothing can be more excruciating than the attempt to comprehend how hard your T-lymphocytes and B-lymphocytes work in order to protect you from the big bad world, with two lines of poetry crossing you every now and then, that has just stumbled upon your mind. In the meanwhile, my monitor went dysfunc. and the entire system had to be transplanted with a second hand cousin, bearing innumerable scratches and fingerprints on its facade, which was enough to strain my eyes from having a view of whatever I'm scribbling down. But its comforting to be back on a writing spree..and I definitely refuse to put my pens down.

There has been some relief of late on the academic front. After shouting endlessly (behind closed doors) at the irresponsible stance of the college authorities to have scheduled an honours exam on the day of a BJP strike, and implore them politely with abundant reasons, our fifth semester exams have finally been postponed for half-a-month. And that was more of a success than what the BJP themselves can achieve through their strike..though I seriously doubt how effective this extended spell would be on our analogous lazy minds and what degree of futility will these silent demonstrations and noisy pleadings amount to, for the reverse doesn't work in Xaviers. But still, as of now, the thought of exams are a tad bit relieving. Rather, life seems worth re-living now.

Winter perhaps, after their long break-up spell of two years, has decided to settle its differences with Calcutta. Last Dec-Jan months had barely been a trailer of what Calcutta is like without men sweating profusely. The rise in humidity post Diwali is somehow endurable..for I had learnt of something called 'October heat' in class five geography books. But any justification behind January heat, I bet, can even put geography to shame. But this time around, winter, it seems, is here to stay..thanks to a few unexpected spells of November rain.

College life is nearing a dead end. Way more dead, since the next avenues are still under heavy mist cover, hesistant enough to go open. Wish its not what we've spent three years hearing to..the pride in declaring that there's "Nothing beyond". Cheer Nihil Ultra, anyone? Finally, making ourselves believe that we have literally concluded with five semesters out of six is something to wonder about and ponder upon.

Today, its one of the most special days of my life, if not the most..Only that it hurts to be alone on a day like this. Its we who made it special, and its us to whom it is. And hence, its all the more painful to celebrate such a day with exams intersecting the back of my mind every second. This blog was an effort to celebrate the day in my own petite way..owing the present joyous state of my mind to the little pleasantries that has been trickling onto my life now and then. And to reach out to you miles away with a share of the feeling that is destined to remain the same..

"When I look into your eyes, I can see a love restrained

But darlin' when I hold you, Don't you know I feel the same?

'Cause nothin' lasts forever..And we both know hearts can change

And it's hard to hold a candle

In the cold November rain.."

The Way She Looked That Night...

I bet its the last day that the Mother looks her best..with a vermillion smear adorning her face. And she seems to make every other woman acquire a fraction of that beauty she defines. Just like I've always wished to look exactly a copycat of the way my mother looks on every Dashami evening. The beat effusing from the dhaak on this day, I feel, seems the most elusive and irresistible, slipping out from everyone's reach in the blink of an eye and engulfing the festive spirit alike quicksand. The last few hours of the festival seems to pass over in no time. And its when you pointlessly argue with yourself that it would certainly have been better had the Pujas arrived a little late. Its always a sulk that the fervour is finally over and I'm really getting short of words and rhyme and thoughts to write something that'd be somewhat a pleasure. Seeking a vent, its imperative to walk the optimistic way..that we are surely getting nearer to the festivities awaiting in the forthcoming year.

P.S.:- Subho Bijoya to everyone out there. Hope all of you had a great puja.

She...

And this time the wait has presumably been the longest for me. There is a certain unnamed aroma I've always linked with Her. Probably its the product of sweets and incense, flowers and clay..but I've always called it 'Her' smell, which floats around since days before Her actual arrival playing the messenger bird of the homecoming. That idiosyncratic smell of Her arrival has never left to enchant any of my fractions, but this time it seemed all too irresistible. Too heavy a feeling to carry around. And now that She's here, that She's finally perceivable from my balcony, it seems all too surreal..to perceive, to smell, or to reach out for a touch.

This is seemingly the last Durga Puja of my 20 year stay in Kolkata. And next year around this time I'll probably be missing classes to stay near home, near Her. But what I'll really miss is the countdown to the festival..the moment since when monsoon starts drifting away giving way to cottony clouds..when a clayey aroma wanders between us, implying that She's on Her way..and the mushrooming shopping destinations which go berserk with their offers. I'll miss the framing of the pandals at almost every corner, which first bring about Her smell..and Her arrival at midnight amidst some euphoric dhaker baddi, when on such an event, once a kid told me.."Didi, Dugga Puja eshe galo!"These will always frame the bits and pieces of my life that can never be shrouded under ignorance or oblivion, irrespective of how much tears they bring about. And there'll always be some little things like the occassional dhaker baddi and vibrant dhunuchi naach, whose mere thought will convey the smell of my city to whichever corner I am. Leaving apart all the political and economic changes that it imperatively requires, I'd really wish to stay alive to see Kolkata exactly this way during the Durga Puja ever and forever down the millennia. And seek that ethereal smell through and through my marrows that plays with me so often, and that, which has and always will help me to keep myself spirited, effevescent and alive.

When Imaginations fly...

When the day sets afar with the Sun
The queen of evenings peeps through her veil..
Alike the bride blushing scarlet,
As she dissolves in her new found delight
All that’s dreary and withers away..
All that was gloom till last night.

And someone alights a blown out candle
Renewing the vigour of a new dusk in life
Along the horizon where thoughts cease to wane..
Across the courtyard where dreams shimmer bright..

When grief conquers the course of life,
And the sun adieus with a tear and a sigh
When despair gathers murk too dense
To behold the zenith of the twilight..
Someone stretches a hand through the mist
Someone, who is nowhere in sight..

Somewhere the mind trails a wrong way
Somethings make it falter to sway
Somewhere the mind faces its end
Someone it seeks as its only friend..

Times when solitude throttles every might
Deserting behind with multitudes of plight,
The kiss of a breeze whispers it all
That beyond here there’s nowhere to fall..
From where the sky gathers all its white
And hopes fly high and free as a kite.

Adieu..

Its quite eerie to feel bad on the death of someone who is related to you in no way..not a friend, nor a foe, neither a chance acquaintance. Someone you just happen to know. And someone you had least thought of bothering you, even by means of death. Its really strange to feel remorse on someone bidding adieu whom you have always learnt to despise. And yet, after he departs, you hear your idols whom you have always listened to, speak good of the deceased. Mr. Subhas Chakravarty, one of the age-old veteran leaders of the 'yet'-ruling political party of my state ceased to exist this morning, amidst dreadful pain and suffering uncalled for. And it was till last Monday that the hymn woven by the Pied Piper thriving in him made people flock blindly to the meeting grounds in multitudes. A saviour of some, if not many, he supposedly had never expected public hearts pouring out on him on any event, belonging to the most severely criticised creed of Indian men. But nevertheless did he speak the truth outright, even on the face of his fellow partymen. Gray trousers and white formals with a Panama hat on top and buns of hair peeping through the sides- he has always looked the same in his trademark attire since the day I first saw him on my school grounds during annual sports some 7 years back, till today, when vignettes of his glorious era were being displayed incessantly in the news channels. A visualisation that, on a lighter note, have inspired many a go-as-you-like and mimic sessions. God does pay for all deeds, and so the people's leader has been saved of going through the agony of viewing the disappearance of his party's waning pallor. And time indeed can heal all that hurts...and the late leader's world will undisputably conquer the grief pervading over his loss. Dirty politics will follow. So will the practices of mud-slinging between some gray-haired naive country captains. And news channels will forever continue to lure behind TRPs by leafing through a person, even after death. But will the fissure created by this adieu ever get filled? Will the party ever manage to revive again under the eyes of such waning veteran leaders? I doubt.

His Masterpiece...

I had been wondering about the Creator. His fluid masterstrokes that bring about the essence of childhood, the fragrance in flowers, and all that is so profound in the name of poetry. But then, childhood wanes and fragrances fail to intoxicate. Even poetry falters to move. And the forgotten leftover is the abyss that seeks refuge under the dwelling of nature, onto the lap of the Creator. For it is Him, who thrives in the midst of drenched meadows and rainfed rivers. And trickles onto our land through the midrib of a leaf. Truly enough, if the world is the Creator's canvas, rains have been His masterpiece.

Hangover...

At my door the leaves are falling
A cold wild wind will come
Sweethearts walk by together
And I still miss someone..

I go out on a party
And look for a little fun
But I find a darkened corner
'Cause I still miss someone..

Oh, no I never got over those blues eyes
I see them every where
I miss those arms that held me
When all the love was there..

I wonder if he's sorry
For leavin' what we'd begun
There's someone for me somewhere
And I still miss someone..

and i still miss someone...

This is to something I haven't yet been able to put to words, or speak out to someone. And to a friend who just had a heartbreak.

It's been an year...

...And the day has come again. Its one of those things that, of late, I have awaited the least. And yet, its here again..with all its hues of blight. Its again that I wished to wake up a little late, and cry a bit more into the midnight. To drive recklessly down the streets, oblivious of what may happen, or is yet to happen. And search for a blue under the city's sky which always seems somewhat incomplete without him. The blue that is reminiscent of thousands of tears and tussels, panics and promises. And the blue furry overcoat that he wished to buy for his twins. Its again, yet again, that I clawed my fists to fight a few tears back. And wished learning to play the flute to allure someone to stay back a few more moments. I wished in the least to do this to him today. But yet again, I had to bid him farewell with another counterfeit smiling face. It haunts me to see the innocent smile on his face. For the times I've wronged him, and ruthlessly stained that innate innocence. And on the way to the victory of my fruitless pride, losing the piece of himself he asked me to secure. God, it kills me like anything. And how hopelessly I crave to beg him on my knees..for a single moment of atonement. Maybe he'll never ask for an apology..And may lend his hand to guide me through this redemption. Maybe I'll never know how he felt when the last bend made us go out of sight..Or what he had to say apart from wiping my tears. Maybe I'll never know how many nights I've made him cry..And how long. Maybe I'll never know him crying..Or he'll never show anything but a smile. But it's been an year. An year less than the years we're destined to stay apart. And an year towards the future we have painted together. And yet, another year, of what makes you feel proud of. I'll miss him. His innocent smiles. His earnest attempts to make me smile some more. And the image of my helpless smiles in his eyes. For he has indeed being the one, who has brought about the eternal spring in my life..painted my days green and nights scarlet, like the imminent rains resting on the evening sky..and fabricated the abstract essence of happiness somewhere between the troughs and crests of my life.

An Evanescent Evening..

The rain had made them wait.
Whilst they wished to play it again..
In the rain.

Monsoon deluded them.
But they had more,
to give in to the game..
Live yet another elusive evening
And quench a few promises.

He had his trousers rolled up
She, her fluid tresses free
With their feet treading quietly
To the surreal depths of the sea..

They had it on their mind
The promise of the game..
on another murky evening
on some dusty, familiar lane..
where withered bits of maples
held it by the hand
Heralding the rain..
And the ivy leaves camouflaged
Their clandestine game.

They had it on their mind
The blurred remnants of an evening
That got lost on the way..
Behind the translucent veil of the feeling
That hollowed them astray.

And the shadows that swirled around them
Swabbing the ecstasy out of the rain
With a trail of the pureed joy ..
Honeycombed by the peccadillo
To love and love again..

And left the children wonder at
How tethers break..and dreams cease,
For who tore their bond apart..
And hurled onto the lap of abyss
From the evening, From the feeling
From the game of bliss and pain
Were it the forlorn rain-soaked shadows?
Or the illusory shadow-soaked rain?

The Twelfth Night..

I really don't know what has been so special about the rains these days. I haven't been able to talk to the rain for quite some time now on account of some nerve-wrecking exam preparations, but nevertheless could I feel myself listening to it every night. And it was the twelfth night of the fifth month of the ongoing year that I waited for hours on end for it, but nevertheless did it betray me, like it does on the hot summer afternoons. I was away from my bedroom and without my pillow to help me cry out the entire night, for we stayed back at my uncle's place on account of the elections. And it was 2 o' clock in the midnight that I found myself insomniac, sitting beside someone else's window and looking out into the night through a not-so-familiar wind, with a void mind somehow brimming with a lot of things to say.....about how some paths had intersected, about the divinity in them and how life deserved to have been beyond it. For it was just a couple of years back that I spent my happiest night on the twelfth night of the fifth month of 2007.

It brought back those tears which I had not expected that night, and the eerie feeling that quite often makes me beg before the rain to come and cover up the whole of my existence in the eddy currents of its fearful and loathsome vigour.

And reminded me the moment back home, when on the terrace with my mother under the full moon-light, I saw her eyes getting filled up reminiscing some distant, unfulfilled, unforgettable memories while musing on the lines...

"Shokhi bhalobasha kare koy...
Shey ki keboli jatonamoy..."

Hey Nuton..

Jaha kichu tumi borshile aji

Hey kobi! Mor ei bonge..
Bokkhe niye kate prato diba nishi
Tobo odhora ashish shonge..

Taale shure gaane chhonde tobo
Hoy banglar probhat nobo nobo
Praner kotha kaane kobo kobo,
Bhashibe ramdhonu ronge..

Ashiyachho grishho dwiprohore
Hoyia bohurupi himel haowa..
Borshar ghono megher araale
Sharod-obhimukhe dhaowa..

Shopiyachi tobo choron tole
Pujiya tobo she naam
Hey kobi aji diboshe tomare
Shohosro koti pronam..

P.S.:-This was done with the purpose of paying a miniscule homage to the man who has shaped our lives. Very very random..

Broken..

A new dawn battered

Some old nights shattered

Broken like a dream
Broken like the dawn

Forlorn hopes shiver
Wander by the river

Cast out as cursed
Vanquished as a pawn

A deadly venom's kiss
A life is here to cease

Effused through a fissure
Buried in ashes, brown

Doom climbs the door
Spills on the floor

Struggling to breathe
In the sea of despair, drown

But I'll wait for you
As the ship's lonesome crew

For lives, through and through
Till I win my last fight

For that lucid beam hued blue
For the song I'll sing to you

For you'll close my eyes
After I live my last night.

The Downpour...

Amidst the crossroads of memory lane
I know I've lost, and there's nothing to gain

Embroiling me further in the fangs of a bane
I watch my hopes going to vain

I know my tears you'll disdain
But before you, I haven't learnt to feign

Tied up in times' merciless chain
I lay on the broken pieces of my window pane

Yes, I can take all the pain
For another walk with you under the heaviest rain...

Resonance...

It has been, albeit a long wait, a fabulous February after all. And the departure of the winter for the first time hasn't been too bothering. And while 'march'ing onto the next 31 days, past the month bygone, it was somewhat a kaleidoscope of mixed feelings that somehow brought equal shares of smile and gloom into the eyes. Strangely enough, its one of such moments when you stop expecting more and thank life for the few simple moments you could gather up to cherish as memories all your life. And it has been one of those times when time had been too kind to spare us from the curses it hurl. The cynosure of it all was our departmental trip to Vizag and the outcome of some four-month-long anticipations regarding it has been undoubtedly one of the best times of our life. It has been one of those times when nature comes calling and joy knows no bounds. When you blend so deep with friendship that the two becomes just about inseparable entities. And the boundless joy you get when a friend calls you family and you find a family away from it. Its a memory, that sadly enough, will never come back to our lives. Memories, we don't wish to perturb and let them stay as they were. Loved, dreamt, created, preserved. And cherished and remembered all through life, with bouts of tears in some far future. For it is very rightly said..

We meet to create memories..

We part to preserve them.

P.S.-Thank you friends..Thank you for bringing such wonderful times in my life.

A Few Beautiful Minds...

It has possessed the correct proportions of yellows and greens and has grayed its hairs over time. It has seen the nineteenth century stealthily zooming past, witnessed the 1900s arrive and depart. Perceived the springs and falls of ages and has stood as a colosseum with spirits wretchedly watching men getting metamorphosized to animals. It has stood tall bearing the testimony of times when knowledge got oppressed and beamed with pride whenever enlightenment overshadowed a fraction of the dark. And cradled in its palms a thousand lives, nursing a million hopes of dreaming high. It has seen surrealism coming true and has lived a 149-year-old life.

It has sustained the virility of the revered spot it has replaced..the collapsed theatre that stood in the same address as it stands now. The legendary Sans Souci theatre that we can only strive to fathom a blurred impression of. Handsome limousines and elegant women in dainty evening gowns carrying artistic parasols..ornate staircases leading to the stage..Shakespearean plays being unwound out. And the debacle that destroyed it all.

It has put in vain the best efforts made to mix accurate proportions of the yellows and greens with a paintbrush in an elaborate attempt to bring its image into an approximation of life. I figure out that the innate divinity with which it had embarked upon is as hard to create an artefact of as it is to reach out.

It has started living its 150th year now and is counting days to celebrate its post-centenary golden jubilee completion. It has worn out in parts many a times and has undergone crude surgeries to retain its vigour. It saw children treading into its lap and men walk out. It has seen its siblings cropping up in and around its fences and shared rendezvous with the older kids in gray hairs. It has continued to spellbind people with its opulence and the brightly hued avalanches of glory it carries forward as its legacy. And its 150 year-old stories that still stupefies us.

It has written a chapter named 'St. Xaviers'. Nurtured a few beautiful minds and linked the term 'Xaverian' with a tinge of pride. And rendered meaning to the abstract and abrupt essence of the word 'beautiful' that still prevails in pieces between us.

Through a tinted glass...

I know when moonlight casts its spell..
And the streets turn sharply towards the gale..
I know it just when you step home
As my thoughts get lost on a nameless trail..

I'll flow to your deepest depths,
You, the current of my waves..
I'll sway to wherever you lead
To your ebb tides I’ll cede..

Are you the dream, yet to be seen?
Are you the way life should have been?
Are you my hopes, in a cocoon?
Are you that long awaited monsoon?

Are you the wings to set me free?
Are you the horizon beckoning me?
Are you the rest of my story?
Are you the muse of my untold poetry?