One grey day, an ashen street oversaw our tryst;
The ripples we made in the water spread afar.
This stillness of our lives challenged by whistling lips,
Succumbed to shuffling feet, succumbed to lazy cheer.
Like pigeons in the town whom no cages may hold —
And the footsteps we traced would be encased in gold.
Nor are we lovers, neither closer friends instead.
How one half and a half may not make us full one!
Yet, marching on, dauntless, in a burning sun’s shade —
All junctions forgotten, all intimacy gone —
Who meets these feet in all its familiar steps,
Who claps in the audience, and who takes the stage.
One grey day, muddy fountains washed out all our dreams;
The promises we made, stirred not the silent graves —
The wonders of the world, marked in our swinging arms
Thus lost in this city of obedient slaves.
Jumping on hopscotch traps in mild, amusing leaps
As flightless children, we learnt what wisdom age keeps.
The castles in the sand that our merry palms shaped —
They braved the wanton waves, they braved the plund’ring winds.
The flags of that unknown world we sinfully draped
Flutters with our spirits on these cynical splints.
In cautious walks through the dim corridors of strife
We emerged from our confines much larger than life.
One grey day, we sat on the deserted benches
Looking at the curtains of one another home,
Till we grew bored of sitting in painful silence,
Till we grew by bits, thus crawling out of this poem.
One lifeless dawn, much before life itself awoke,
We lived a thousand moments, in each a life spoke.