Perhaps this could have stayed unstated.
Had our words turned to other things
In the gray park, the rain abated
Life would have quickened other strings.
I list your gifts in this creation:
Pen, paper, ink and inspiration,
Peace to the heart with touch or word,
Ease to the soul with note and chord.
How did that walk, those winter hours
occasion this?
No lightening came;
Nor did I sense, when touched by flame,
Our story lit with borrowed powers...
Rather, by what our spirits burned
Embered in words, to us returned.......
Vikram Seth
This piece of the poem was lying in a distant corner of my shelf since last few years… as you sift through your yesterdays, some puzzling questions glide by…you learnt to let go, for this day would take you to the answers buried deep down. Uneasy emotion trickle by and somewhat pale, rusted by time, the jottings float over again! Winter chill, and the windows closed. Dark despair guarded the doors of future.
In one careless sprightly moment of a morning, a whim of breeze cut through the mantle, colors blind my eyes, warmth carpets over the slime, and yesterdays left silently, I wake up in tomorrow........a new day has come
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