The Letter
Your letter came in a package along with a sound box.
You wrote, " Hope you can enjoy your music far more with this."
And you concluded the letter writing, 'Take Care'.
'Take Care'? What does that mean?
I read and re-read every letter thoroughly.
Maybe searching for some message hidden somewhere..
Maybe you meant something more than 'Take Care'?
Something more deep, more intimate, more profound...
Something which should not be mentioned in casual fancy...
Something which can start or stop a life...
Maybe you meant it, but forgot to mention it in some hurry
Maybe it just slipped off your mind that someone might be waiting for it
Maybe you just wanted me to read in between the lines...
I wondered and kept on wondering,
See-sawing in the lofty dreams of 'What if?'....
But still I did not get any answer...
So I came down and wrote a letter in your name
Waiting fervently for another reply....
Missing you
I had been writing you letters everyday,
Describing how my day had been,
How things are at work,
How the neighborhood child keeps on making noise every evening at a particular time,
How the anthurium gifted by you, gives flower everyday
I would describe every mundane things in detailed way
To make you the witness of my ordinary life
And in the end of the letter I'd conclude....
" I miss you"....
You would reply that you don't really believe in the concept of missing
As the world has made you too cynical to do so
But nevertheless you would laugh and write "It's ok to miss.."
"With absence, fonder the heart grows."
So I would believe and keep on missing you,
Kindling the flame that you have ignited in me
With the pain I'd get in your separation,
Keeping faith that one day you will surely return.
And dream the day you'd return,
I would light up all your darkness with love's eternal torch
So that when we can look into each other's eyes
There's no fear, there's no shame.
So I kept waiting for you, and even today I do,
But you never came, nor the promises were fulfilled
All that came were some long written words of consolation.
Like dry and withered leaves blown away with the wind.
And today again I write a letter to you,
Describing the regular and not so regular things,
Ending the letter again with 'Missing you',
Maybe out of some long grown habit.
Post script:
Don't make me keep on 'missing you' so much
That one day I may stop 'missing you'...