2 hours tale

On a small flight of about 2 hours,

I realised one simple silly fact.

This seemingly social society of ours,

Behaves such when there is nothing to distract.

A 2 hours tale…

So I sat next to this seemingly ordinary person,

Whose name is not important to this tale.

The flight took off as we acted to our version,

Unknown of the things that were about to unveil.

It took us a while to settle down and adjust,

There were no books, tv shows, or movies to trust,

Eventually the protocol came into effect,

Awkwardly two strangers decided a conversation is a must.

With no fear of coming across as boring,

No expectations or the necessity to impress,

We talked freely and kept on exploring,

And soon realised that both her and I were a mess.

Funnily we kept on talking for the entire duration,

Two travel freaks who wanted to travel cross nation,

And later as we deboarded at our destination,

It hit me. Chatting is nice but nicer is a good conversation.

Post flight

Stop chatting and start conversing.

 

A conversation

I seek a conversation with me,

But I rarely can manage time.

So I asked, when will I be free?,

Some time during the rhyme.

Amidst all the hustle and bustle,

I found time for everything else,

Life presents opportunities only after tussle,

Opportunities encoded in the book we write for ourselves.

So take a walk and talk during the walk,

For at times you need to hear it from yourself.

Each solution that I need,

Is right next to me round the clock.

Bicycle story

Some memories from the old shelves,

Came across as I was passing by.

Without any effort there was a smile,

As for a moment past and I were ally.

On one side is me, rushing from goal to goal,

While on the other was I, running freely as a whole.

On one side is me, with clean and ironed shirt,

While on the other was I, a knight who couldn’t be hurt.

On one side is me, cruising in my car,

While on the other was I, peddling my bicycle to the stars.

For a moment I became me,

For in that moment I was free,

Amazing is that kid we all see,

Bicycle stories are for us to flee.

I and me, The Poet and the Pen

Simple Physics

It is said to have started with a big bang,

And so did the wheels of time.

Just like cosmic bodies we grow old,

And forget many who were once prime.

Life takes us to many places,

Ups and downs being the typical way.

While transversing the idiosyncratic story,

We let go of many without a say.

Old friend you are now lost,

Existing only in the initial pages.

Neither of us did anything wrong,

But we drifted with different stages.

Each one remembers the other,

Smiling with tears at memories of past.

Hope you are doing well,

Friend is one you just cannot recast.