A quaint summer comes to my mind,
As I recall that particular book.
Swing set of my balcony faced,
A small cafe with a homely look.
I frequented it every now and then,
To finish what I had started before.
My book of stories from every end,
And coffee that I always wanted more.
Times were tough back in those days,
Money was hard and work was seldom.
Making do with my rustic reading glass,
I typed what my imagination could fathom.
Decades have passed and here I am,
Writing just as I did before.
What keeps us humble is our past.
Time when I used to sleep on the floor.
Always treasure those who stayed,
Throughout your quest with highs and lows.
For me it was my rustic reading glass, now yours.
Wear to see what it shows.
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.
