Where'd you go

Remember i used to write letters to you, when i was far far away. Far away in another land. Today they told me you never got them. They told me you dont live there anymore. No one knows where you are. 

I wonder if they tried to look for you. Someone must have, or maybe not.

I saw the little boys who used to run around in your front yard and play with the broken pieces of brick that lay scattered on the wet grass.They seem all grown up. I saw them go to school today morning. Their pleated pale grey trousers reminded me of your curtains. The colour seemed very similar, or maybe so i think. Your house still stands at the end of the road mighty strong but it does look withered with time. 

When i see you i shall tell how the roads have changed, i shall tell you how the skies here don't seem the same because you ain't around. Remember the times we spent in your porch on winter afternoons. The tea cups had so much to tell...The scar on my right hand has faded..the trees have grown taller and they bear fruit now..and the fishbowl by your window. I dont see it through the window anymore. Did you take it when you left ? Did it die ? 

I have searched for you.I searched for you today. I look for you in the old alleys, the sunlit ones around the lake. I have looked for you in your porch and my rooftop, in the porcelain tea cups and the never sent letters. I dig out the sand out of the box of nostalgia every day, everywhere, I promise. But you just dont seem to be there. Tonight its dark outside the road side lanterns are dim. But as the dawn breaks i shall look for you again, behind the grey curtains and creeks of the old gate in the play park. I shall look for you..I shall wait by the corner of the road near the lolly shop in the afternoon and if i find you we shall go by the lake again..like old times...I shall look for you..I shall wait my friend.

Midnight Chronicles

I have a strange habit of looking out of the window everynight before i doze off, be it full moon or no full moon, be it a clear sky or too many clouds to peep through, be it a lovely windy whisper or a thunder that teears apart the sky. Its just a mere tendency to watch the night through it's glorious darkness i have grown over the past few years.
Just the other night as i sat by the huge window, my old bed side lamp giving away a depressive dim light to make the dull maroon sheets on my bed a little feminity, the darkness outside seemed so much more calm than the day before, and the day before that. The breeze that blew by reminded me of lullabies my grandmother sang to me on summer nights. There was so much resemblence with the all that the night had to whisper, with my childhood. As i gazed into the floating clouds i heard an owl's cry. I peeped out of my window to figure out the direction it came from but in vain. It was just one cry and everything was silent. One cry which felt like an ongoing turmoil around everything. The immediate abrupt silence reminded me of my of my mother sitting on her huge rocking chair reciting aloud ''The Owl'' by Edward Thomas to her students. A war poem which talks about a runaway soldier, a poem which has dug in deep in my mind. I have seen my mother teach the verse again and again, year after year, to many a student.
A drop of tear trickled down the unworthy lines on my face.
A strange emptiness filled up my room, a vagueness in the pictured that stay stuck to my wall.
The bed side lamp seems to have grown so much more dim than the last time i had looked at it. The maroon sheets no more looked as feminine.
A questionable belief on the everyday trust on the man sitting above.
A rare insight of the 'myself' i prefer not to look into.
A little prayer unsaid, a little grief covered up with the sands of time and a little wish buried under compulsion.