Panorama

  The stranger…… We all know of a stranger becoming a friend.. But what when a friend becomes a stranger. We turn back the tides of time, Or walk backwards the steps we took, To bridge the distance between hearts- That now stands apart. We undo the promises we swore   Or un-share the secrets we told. The look in the eyes , or the smile in the lips,   That once unraveled the world, We go past by as if now it holds no worth. You know you still talk, you still greet You still meet, But never like before. For you have made walls, high enough That mars the bond you shared, The friendship you cared, Maybe it took a moment, or days or months- But you have already bottled up All the feelings and emotions you bore And floated it far ashore, And then when you see him , Maybe after days , months or years, Although your eyes want to well up with tears, All you do care is that a stranger lies in front of you there.

      Love or the idea of love…. Do we fall in love with our love ? Or is it the idea of love that we crave.. Between the endless talks, the numerous ruminations And the chain of memories , we make assumptions. Maybe we form an image, an illusion Of the person we love. Or we train our hearts , our minds to fathom - That is how will be the one we adore. Behind a living being of flesh and blood, We impose an image of our expectations and thoughts. Maybe that is the reason we fail to understand , Why the one do not react in the manner we want. For we have concocted a web of emotions and reasons, Around a person that already has its own mannerism. Thus the expectations, thus the pain. When we say the loved one has changed, Is it the person or our idea of it that has waned ? For sometimes we tend to fall not for the one, But for the idea of the one.. Hence behind the same face and soul, Exists for us a person whom we mould. And thus they say sometimes unrequited love is stron...

  The tempest…. And it hurls along, ravaging through the empty fields… Bellowing through the murky streets; Branches howling , windows clanking. Wild, unfettered and unbridled. They say we can predict a storm by the calm that prevails. But what about the one that rages from within.. Or is it the years of silence that moulds it.. The turbulence of emotions and feelings, Of having felt, having seen and having borne, A myriad of sufferings, an array of misdoings, To the point it makes you shallow, but carves a hollow, A depression so deep, that the tempest follows. And then it sweeps, unchained and unshackled, Ravaging through the empty beings.