Here, I'm back again,
pen on paper.
Sitting back, brooding,
wrapped in indecision.
While time takes its own sweet time,
am left with nothing,
but my relentless thoughts
& the excruciating wait.
One feeding on another,
buying time.
I turn back,
which I sometimes do,
when sorrow is too much
& content hard to come by,
I go back a few chapters
only to find someone,
someone no more,
staring me with misty eyes
through the tainted glass of hope.
As I answer his gaze, I realize
that the man as hopeful of hope
is the image of my own past.
Nothing much has changed between.
It's good to know,
atleast there was someone before
as sad as me.
