The stained mug on my window shield...

It stood like a silent spectator

watching me

with a coy smile on it's face

It's shadow growing older

as the sun retired for the day

leaving the stains

of an unfinished story

The words were blurred

in the mist of bliss

the voices that echoed once

now stood still

It is still waiting

gazing at the horizon

in the hope of a tomorrow
in the hope of a tomorrow...

The man at the station...

A familiar note drifts past my ear

as I descend the stairs,

It's the note of melancholy

flowing through the strings of his Violin...

 He stands there everyday

holding his voice in his hand,

his eyes closed,

a hint of crease on his forehead,

trying to telling the world his story...

The threadbare coat,

the worn out boots,

the chippings on his violin,

whispers the tale of the seasons gone by...

It was a rainy day as today,

when I heard him the first time.

Eager to beat the rain,

Battling my way out of the crowd...

I stood there frozen in time

and watched him play.

All I could hear is the melody,

shrouding the pain in his eyes,

and the world faded away in distance...

When he stopped,

I looked around to find

the world walking past,

running behind their mundane lives,

just running...

I walked up to him

and dropped few coins before him.

And as I was leaving,

he looked up at me and smiled.

I never forgot that smile

nor could I stop thinking about the note.

He stands there everyday

making people like me stop for a while

and smile,

away from the hollowness of life...

Burnt pages of my book...

It was a book of my life,

Wrapped in muslin;

Each word carved with love

And my dreams etched on the pages.

My childhood was framed in time,

The smiles danced and chimed;

The sand castle I built still stood tall,

Memories still vivid, as I recall.

The chapter of the youthful spring

when love was in the air,

when we held hands and laughed,

the first kiss we shared.

Together we wrote a new story,

when our angel dawned;

Those giggles and whimpers filled our lives,

forever and beyond.

There was a long way to go,

with many chapters to unfold;

Many springs and many summers to come,

some told and some untold.

Then I heard the screams

piercing through the cold night;

The air filled with pain

and eyes with misery and fright.

"Hold my hand my baby"

Is all I could say;

Trying to save my book,

from the burning shades of grey.

Nothing I did could stop the fire,

that crept through the walls;

Burning the pages of my book,

and my tiny house of dolls.

Though I breathe today,

But the wind isn't the same;

It's ashes and rubble all over the place

and a life to reclaim...