Right now, I have my hands-free plugged in and the song that I was playing has just ended. You have done that haven’t you?
Right now, I hear things differently. The sound of the fan above my head, the keys of the laptop as I write and a distant chatter in some random room number of my PG are different than the other ones that I hear. Which sounds?
A faint rhythmic beating of my heart, the sound of that I make when I gulp saliva and my breathing.
The strange melancholy that I am feeling. Maybe it is the song. It left its soul here. Time by Hans Zimmer. You should hear it.
Do you ever feel something and don’t know what to call it?
I do. And at that time, I feel helpless.
Yesterday I came across a word that described something that I had felt over the years.
And today I am here,writing about this.
Why did I make a vague attempt at describing what I was doing?
To let you know that I too exist. I too face what you have faced or are going to.
I often fail at expressing the same in prose as I do in poems. So here we go.
I hope they get to you.
I look out of the window,
raindrops hindering my sight.
I see people passing by,
As the day turns to night.
All I ever wonder is,
Do they share the same joy, the same plight?
Are we all nothing but paper planes?
Reviving at each gush of wind.
Are we not but just a figment?
A lead in ours but also a blur.
Are we all not joy rides in a fair?
Dancing on the tunes which we never knew.
A man dragged onto the shore,
A lady crying as she leans on the door,
A child, laughing and wetting the floor,
The grandmother whom we all adore,
A murderer feeling; leaving behind death and gore.
Me; going through all of it, once more.
There’s story lying around,
Old to them but new to you,
Look at the blur of lights that pass,
Look beyond the memories that lasts,
There’s a whisper dying to say,
“Come, sit, let me tell you a story”