Surrounded by fields of golden wheat,
With edge of the forest as it’s fence,
Stood a small town with narrow bricked streets,
Harbouring nothing but suspence.
Many who went there lived the same day,
Uncertain of their own eye’s account.
Strangely enough they all lost their way,
When they met her, a mathematician who couldn’t count.
Her charm was perfect like an old magic spell,
Which gained the trusts of travellers she came by.
Her smile was innocent and meant only well,
And eyes were deep, beautiful and shy.
She asked three questions…
“Where lies the destination you are so destined to be?
For the end is similar for all. Just be free.
Do you really chase your dreams or are you trying to flee?
Careful, this answer is the key.
Close your eyes to see who you are supposed to be?
And just like that, they all ended up alone before a lake by a tree.”
No one ever saw her or heard her voice again,
Yet they felt estrange and rejoice,
Who was that girl and where did she vanish?
Or maybe she was conscience seeking a clear choice.
On the cold night of December 23,
As I was walking by the lake,
Laid on the grass, a beautiful key,
Remarkable, hard to make.
Tempted to find the door it belonged,
I walked here and there.Yet,
Found nothing after searching for long,
So I sat on this side chair.
Didn't realise what happened next,
But I woke up at the same spot.
Everything seemed simple yet complex,
As I sat on the chair I had sought.
It was evening when I woke up,
And people were walking around.
Medieval seemed the whole setup,
Even the currency spoke of a crown.
On the far side I saw a man,
Who looked just as did I.
Smiled, left a note and a pen,
Written, "I am glad you came by".
Further read…
"I wonder how it will be,
A reflection from the future far,
Let I alone find this key,
And smile while feeling bizarre"
~The Poet,1765
On a cold dark night at around 2,
While reading and enjoying my hot brew,
I heard a knock on the main door
And a fading sound of walking shoes.
Alarmed and awake I asked for a name,
But nobody replied, no sound came,
I took my gun and headed towards the door,
And hoped that I won't have to use my aim.
On the other side, laid a small letter,
Who wrote it?, God knows better.
I picked it up and went to my room,
To read and understand the entire matter.
"Hello my friend, my name is Paul,
You don't know me but I know all,
I lived here way before you did,
In the room right by the hall.
I hope you are doing well,
Your poems always have a story to tell,
I know you must be very curious right now,
Does the attic still have that smell?
Don't be scared you are all alone,
I am the one whose house you now own,
Just wanted to let you know about me,
A past owner who now sleeps by the stone."
Eyes became wide and hands started to shake,
Was I dreaming or was I really awake?
Till date that night raises so many questions,
A letter addressed to the house by the lake.
