What If I Never See You Again?

WHAT IF I NEVER SEE YOU AGAIN?

What if I never see you again…
Nothing much is it?
Nothing much;
Just that the streets we walked so often would be empty
Lined with trees unstirred.
With slum urchins
Suddenly discovering their nakedness
And along with it shame, guilt and desire.
Living to exist by the side of the streets
Where we walked so lately
Now- where only our vacant steps resound
So…
What if I never see you again?


What if I never see you again?
Nothing much is it?
Nothing much;
Just that the diner where we dined would be empty
Deafened by the silence of our absence.
The owner may reserve our favorite cabin for a week
Maybe a bit more…maybe not.
Till he is exhausted re-counting the dimes we paid
To sit for those extra hours
Having had enough coffee-But not of ourselves.
So…
What if I never see you again?

What if I never see you again?
Nothing much is it?
Nothing much;
Just that there will be two less voices in the bus stand
The vacant window seat of the 5o’ clock bus glaring stupefied
The arguments have ceased….the bickering over.
Romances have been muted
The courtship silenced.
Plenty of stories were told
Ask the window…it knows.
But even I know…
Stories unfinished are plenty
So…
What if I never see you again?


What if I never see you again?
Nothing much is it?
Nothing much;
The evening matches in the university will have two less watchers
Two less careless hands tearing the grasses
Two less careful hands etching their names on the rocks.
Creating and destructing.
Now…
Maybe things will be difficult…maybe even difficult.
Maybe no phone calls at midnight
That means more sleep
With less peace
Fag ends of a foggy life dimly lit
So…
What if I never see you again?

the organisation of disorganised thoughts

Putting a thinking heart to work,
Staring at the dull ceiling of my room, imagining worlds and cartographies beyond
Thinking of battles won and wars lost
In the battlefields of Crimea, or that of Nuremberg,
The wind hits my face through the bedroom window,
Carrying messages of love, war, final goodbyes and first meetings
The letter of a dying soldier to his mother in America
The painting of a young father for his daughter in France
The final text of goodbye from inside the W.T.C
And the random key-hits of a lost soul
Pleading for a reader..

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The Prelude

For readers who expect the prelude to 'be the swelling act to the imperial theme',....well, you may be disappointed. Its just some random key hits on my keyboard and definitely the 'spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings', But i had to start 'someday, somewhere', and i guess after wasting 'world enough and time', this is how my blog would start, 'not with a bang' but neither with a 'whimper'. Try and read between the 'words words words' and you will find the influence of the author who wrote about wasting one's days in the land of dreams after having awakened from a 'hundred years of solitude'.