This is his story. A story which created history. Very few know him, even fewer understand him and perhaps no one ever got to see the real him.
Who is he?
He is anyone, everyone, and no one.
This is our story. A story of which we all are a part of.
His-Story A con man with an uncommon genuine smile, Predicating an image that is still unclear, Is always facing some or the other trial, For his mind has both courage and fear. Humble at the very core but not so much on the skin, Just like the world we so much adore, we too are on a spin. And to win?, Con man must be a kin, And so we all have this evil twin. Passionate is another charm of time, Without which nothing is fine. Each step in life is like a line. His story is for him to design. To be truthful, not being truthful is alright, For with situations we need to change our sight. Lose if you must for trying is right, His story speaks about everyone's fight.
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.
