What's been lost is hard to find...
To begin a anew a different life,
A different story,
A different drama,
A different movie in play...
The only sad part being
You never know the end,
You never know what lies on the other side...
The wait,
The goodbyes,
The greetings,
The mix-ups,
And all the weird dreams...
In my brain,
They form a weird tangle,
All the memories,
Stringed by varying shades of grey...
Words are my only rescue,
To paraphrase endless thoughts
That form no coherent pattern.
Of moments lost in time,
That, which will never return again...
That, which lost their charm in the monotonic ticks of the clock...
Most of the times,
You can only sit back and ponder,
Sometimes wishing to rewind, erase, and redo...
But usually, its the same reel of memories
Playing over and over again...
And all you are,
Is a lone spectator,
Of a chain of events...
The greetings are always warm,
The smiles and laughter, wrapped in joy,
But transient states
They fade...
What's been lost is hard to find.
But it is harder to lose, once you've found it again.
Although life tries to teach you,
Time after time,
The art of letting go,
Instead you try to hold on even more...
Its not the fights, the shouts that hurt,
Its only the greetings,
The same smiles and laughter that return to haunt...
Making the art of letting go,
All the more difficult and tiring...
Sometimes you find it.
Sometimes you lose it.
But sometimes, its time to learn the game:
The art of lost and found...
In believing that it would be found,
Although it appears lost,
And serenely accepting, what's found,
Might be lost again...
To begin a anew a different life,
A different story,
A different drama,
A different movie in play...
The only sad part being
You never know the end,
You never know what lies on the other side...
The wait,
The goodbyes,
The greetings,
The mix-ups,
And all the weird dreams...
In my brain,
They form a weird tangle,
All the memories,
Stringed by varying shades of grey...
Words are my only rescue,
To paraphrase endless thoughts
That form no coherent pattern.
Of moments lost in time,
That, which will never return again...
That, which lost their charm in the monotonic ticks of the clock...
Most of the times,
You can only sit back and ponder,
Sometimes wishing to rewind, erase, and redo...
But usually, its the same reel of memories
Playing over and over again...
And all you are,
Is a lone spectator,
Of a chain of events...
The greetings are always warm,
The smiles and laughter, wrapped in joy,
But transient states
They fade...
What's been lost is hard to find.
But it is harder to lose, once you've found it again.
Although life tries to teach you,
Time after time,
The art of letting go,
Instead you try to hold on even more...
Its not the fights, the shouts that hurt,
Its only the greetings,
The same smiles and laughter that return to haunt...
Making the art of letting go,
All the more difficult and tiring...
Sometimes you find it.
Sometimes you lose it.
But sometimes, its time to learn the game:
The art of lost and found...
In believing that it would be found,
Although it appears lost,
And serenely accepting, what's found,
Might be lost again...
