Maybe From Life

A conversation: “This is my delight, thus to wait.” "There is nothing to ask for a thing very carefully. More attention only brings more addiction More addiction brings nothing but more disaster. " He used to say that. "How do you know?" I asked him one day. He was not an outspoken person, not at all. When he answered, he spoke very carefully "Maybe from life." I remained silent. Who am I to calculate the happiness of life? Who am I to theorize about the affair of the world? There is a fascination in me with dark blue, The sky looks beautiful in that color, the same goes for people I have been seeing butterflies in my dreams lately, every now and then. A Case study: Are you dreaming about me, now? The sky is covered with the glory of heavy rain Today is a good day to have a fish, fried with rice I never expected a phone call from that gentleman But what a surprise, I think I'm getting the phone! "How are you?" So far so good….how to stay! To live days and nights, only to survive like a lost kite I remembered, but could not exactly express in language How people love to hear joy, how one loves to see a happy face. Chronic grief is not exactly healthy, nor is it expected, Alas, who loves to dig the heart and arouse pain! Both my brain and the heart are filled with torn pieces of paper Alas! My heartache! Aspiration: On such a day I can talk with the one. I want to write short stories Any comments? I can see some character traits in the opposite position Absolutely as transparent as pure water A pious one! Ah, A pious and religious one! Just like... Just like a character living in the past, whom I have lost. Another one is this gentleman I know that he is most likely a writer I haven't read into his craft yet He is a reserved one. Half of his words are probably my own thoughts, My desperate effort to read between those lines of... The branches of imagination and the color-rich exaggeration In fact, the conversation was very short-lived There is also a baby-face in my chest It roars with all its might ... "it is your poem again!" “Not poetry, but short stories!” I tried to correct it. “Same thing!” He roared louder and stronger. I'm with all this now! With passing days and nights... While walking the path of an angel and demon I want to see the end of the way. How far is it? Note: “This is my delight, thus to wait.” This is the starting line of Geetanjali poem #44. (A Tagore song)