So it happened.
Matter-of-factly, without an announcement of the denouement,
it just climaxed, and I was, as always, hands-in-pocket -
too comfortable even to take my hands out to clap and congratulate.
Now you'd ask why, when and why not.
But to me, it was more of loosing a dream, than love lost!
I have heard that people love their dreams, but the moment you start dreaming your love,
that's a recipe for disaster!
Anyways, it's all happy and sundry - and I still sit pretty enjoying the winter Sun.
Won't say I bought them, but stuff that I planned to get will not be bought anymore.
For I could be a poet and say, the mirror is just glass if it's not reflecting your other side -
or I'd never comb because now I can never smell you tresses! Oh No!
To hell with artificial romanticism that finds itself on paper and print.
Or over coffee, cigarettes and costly cappuccinos.
Because it's not fruitful, it's redundant.
Because it's not resulting, the resultant is boring.
Not the same for you maybe, or the poets who endured the Fall.
We were busing shooting the colors of the leaves but missed they'll all soon be brown.
No leaves, just brown. Branches, alone in the snow.
Make do with what you got then, coz you really do not have so many
options - or colors - in the Spring. Simple is easy, easy is alright, alright is.. Simple!
Matter-of-factly, without an announcement of the denouement,
it just climaxed, and I was, as always, hands-in-pocket -
too comfortable even to take my hands out to clap and congratulate.
Now you'd ask why, when and why not.
But to me, it was more of loosing a dream, than love lost!
I have heard that people love their dreams, but the moment you start dreaming your love,
that's a recipe for disaster!
Anyways, it's all happy and sundry - and I still sit pretty enjoying the winter Sun.
Won't say I bought them, but stuff that I planned to get will not be bought anymore.
For I could be a poet and say, the mirror is just glass if it's not reflecting your other side -
or I'd never comb because now I can never smell you tresses! Oh No!
To hell with artificial romanticism that finds itself on paper and print.
Or over coffee, cigarettes and costly cappuccinos.
Because it's not fruitful, it's redundant.
Because it's not resulting, the resultant is boring.
Not the same for you maybe, or the poets who endured the Fall.
We were busing shooting the colors of the leaves but missed they'll all soon be brown.
No leaves, just brown. Branches, alone in the snow.
Make do with what you got then, coz you really do not have so many
options - or colors - in the Spring. Simple is easy, easy is alright, alright is.. Simple!
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