Wednesday, 13 January 2016


Dusks and dawns never change, making us believe that time remains the same, until we look at ourselves. I look at the waves. It seems like just another day from the old times. I look at you. You have changed on the outside, but you still seem familiar to me. Yet, you have changed. Your eyes still reflect numerous thoughts of your mind, with the charismatic ocean of secrets that I had always wanted to explore. I still want to. Your hair, a little grey in colour now, still make you look graceful to me. Your smile, over these years, has remained mystic. I wonder how many more fell for the magic it showed. The way you look at me hasn't changed a bit-- as if trying to read my mind each minute quietly with your constant gaze along with lots of questions. You look at me. I seem familiar to you as well-- the same series of multiple expressions that you wanted to understand, or may be still want to. My hair, grey too, still hide a part of my face, that portrays various shades of colours in your presence. My hesitant eyes compensate for the words that have always travelled till my lips and vanished. My hands still brush away the sweat from the intertwined fingers, making my heartbeats growing faster with nervousness each second. We spend a forever in that silence---the usual silence or perhaps the silence of awkwardness, to face each other again, after so many years. We think of saying that we missed each other, no matter, in which way. We think of talking about all those dreams and wishes, that remain preserved inside. We think of sharing our worlds over these years. We think of discussing all those questions, answers, misunderstandings which remain at the back of our minds. We think of exploring those worlds once again. Yet, we smile as  our minds travel through the memory lane.

You ask me,"So, you're a writer now?" 
"Kind of."

We say nothing more, though we want to. 

You think about all that shouldn't have been, I think of all that could have been. I wonder if it could still be. You wonder if it should be. 

We remain like the drops in those parallel waves--the same drops we once wrote about, which never meet, no matter how many times, they are superimposed. No amount of interference could separate or join them, the drops, the waves-- parallel, afar, yet inseparable. Nothing has changed over these years on the inside,neither you and me, nor the echoes of those days and secrets, just like the dusks and dawns here.

~Excerpt from an incomplete story, someday