And then to him…

And then to him the obvious difference strikes..
His story is written while the other he writes
The writer comes to reality from his thoughts many
Still confused and stuck… seeking ideas if any!

The writer wants to write
But words are rare…
His thoughts are lost
He is painfully aware….

He has lost the writer in him, the one who could write
For now the words written just don’t seem right!
Losing his grip on reality, losing his grip on life
The writer still attempts to write, another worthless strife!

The Writer’s Death

With each passing second…slowly he lost breath.
Solemn and still he lied on bed…as the writer awaited his death.
In his mind that moment…thoughts drifted amidst nauseating blanks few…
Random thoughts many…of words he had written…of people he knew…
Of that one girl he loved…and yet wanted to hate as well…
Another thought interrupted all of sudden…will it be heaven for him…or hell
Whatever it will be …it has to better than life…that was the deal…
For which he had embraced death on his own…to end an endless ordeal…
Poison spread through his veins…and conquered over his every part…
He knew not what was being destroyed faster…a creative mind..or a broken heart…
And so a writer died…in his last few moments of solemnity…
Drifting apart from his existence..away from life…that granted him his identity…
And so another writer ends his last words few…
That writer had met his fate…this writer awaits his destiny too…

The Writer III

He looks at her again,
A solemn moment, of pleasure, of pain,
When words fall short, eyes speak more,
Of thoughts deep, from the heart’s core.

The night’s full of surprises it seems,
A starless sky, where the moon gleams,
Suddenly pours an untimely rain,
“Why ?”, in two minds, this same unanswered question will remain!!!

Out of words the writer concentrates now,
He has to end this tale happily somehow,
How ironical this fact seems to him,
Of glee he speaks while reality is grim.

There the tale comes to end,
A broken reality he had to bend,
For happy endings mark a perfect love story,
Broken tales are just lost in history.

He sets aside his work and glances at her now,
The girl, who never left his thoughts somehow,
She waits for the rain to slow down so she can go
Nostalgic moments follow the rain droplets flow.

And here I leave the tale, lost in traslation that night,
For under the pale moon, two lost lovers in a cafe, was just another sight,
Hearts spoke more , than words can say….
Perhaps this real love story will continue some other day….

As for that night, what happened next remains a mystery..
I had left by then , so if I ever come across the writer again,
I may knw what happend next, did it really end happily, or add to the pain,
Perhaps some day then we will know the end of this unfinished story!!!

The Writer II (Yet Incomplete…)

She isnt alone like him, but with someone,
How, his own heart burns, when he sees her with anyone,
But there she sits in front of him, so close yet so far,
Back to the new tale he arrives, to that first long drive in the young lad’s car!!!

He writes of the time the two spent together,
Spring was the season, calm was the weather,
Of the various moments, magical they seemed,
But now he comes back to that night, where the pale moon gleamed.

Of that fateful night, he writes ahead,
Of the green-eyed girl in a dress – sparkling red,
For a moment, from his tale he shifts his attention,
To his own love in that cafe, his gaze on her adjacent reflection.

Beautiful she looks in that elegant red dress,
Whats the mystery behind this beauty is no one’s guess…
He remembers the day, the two had met,
He had offered her a lift in his car, next to him she had sat!!

Back to his tale, he writes of that girl,
Of the ring she adorns, its single pearl.
The pearl that glitters in that moonlight divine,
The ring that marks a faint memory of sparkling wine…

Of a night he writes, of a night he remembers,
Of the chilly wintry night in that December,
The night when the lad proposed to his own love,
The night at present, when he is no longer her love.

Drifting away from his tale, back to reality is the Writer,
Another sip of coffee, ecstasy on a chilly evening of winter.
He hears her laughter, rhythmic and warm,
His soaring heart he tries to calm!!

Back towards his love, now turns his gaze,
Their eyes meet this time, a momentful daze,
They both turn away at the same time, yet a conversation has been made,
In the silent night which will soon fade!!!

She will leave soon, but he will stay,
To continue his writing, with words he will play,
And so once again he writes, of that fateful night,
When the lad and his lady love will re-unite.

They meet in a cafe, now the tale seems awkwardly familar,
But ofcourse, to his own tale it is suprisingly similiar,
But then to his thoughts the obvious difference strikes,
His own tale has been written, while the other he writes!!!

The Writer (Incomplete)

There sits the Writer, my friend,
To another story of his he puts an end.
But his own life tale has gone quite wary,
‘Cause every broken heart has a broken story!!

In that cafe, he writes another new tale,
Of a night, so dark, of its moon, so pale.
There he goes on writing, his first character’s introduction,
Of her attractive green eyes, of the seductress’s seduction!

Of the innocence she once had,
Which attracted amongst many, a common lad.
There the second character comes in,
So thats where this love story will now begin!!!

Another cup of coffee arrives, steaming black!
A few sips the Writer has, for ideas he now lacks!
How would he begin this new love tale,
Will it be success in the end or would their love fail???

At that very moment, the Writer’s own life tale revives,
For in that very cafe, his own love arrives…
A raging beauty with a flaring smile,
The Writer is mesmerized for a while!

He remembers that smile from the good ol’ days,
When together they were before they parted ways.
Of that fateful day when the two of them parted,
Of his unfinished love which was all that lasted!

He concentrates now on writing the new tale,
Back to the question of success or fail.
Success he chooses, ignoring her presense,
How ironical!! He always missed her in her absense!

Back to the tale, he describes the young lad,
In the words of his friends a little smart, a little mad.
Crazy he was in love of that girl,
Whose innocent green eyes made every heart twirl!

What went wrong in their love story??? the Writer ponders,
He steals a glimpse of his love, as he wonders,
How different she looks now, yet the same eyes – attractive green,
Unaware of his presence in the cafe, after three years so close she has been!!!