Sometimes.

I have these thoughts, sometimes, that if life could even be spent next to your shadow, it might have some semblance of being complete, this sadness, this fate of a damned life could have been lost in the light of your eyes, but this didn't happen and thus the siutation is that you're not here, neither is the sorrow of your loss nor is your desire, life goes by as if it does not even have the desire of a support. I dream I'm walking on unfamiliar streets without any destinations, there's not a flicker of light, I'm afraid I'll get lost in this darkness, I know this, but still I have these thoughts, sometimes.

I'm only here for a few moments, might be years, but from what matters, it's a moment or two. My words are only here for those moments, my love is only here for those moments, my grief is only here for those moments, I'm young only in those moments. Tomorrow there will be others who'll live for these same moments, write for these moments, where's the difference between me and them. Someone will remember me tomorrow, why will someone remember me tomorrow, this sedulous world doesn't even have the time to waste on anyone.

The faces of these relationships might change but their foundations don't end, and consequently neither do the boundaries, and most importantly, nor the want. It's impossible for me to say what there might be when I can't even tell what's happening now. Give this life a justification, if not a justification, let it be an excuse, for being complete. Complete is important. Be it complete for a moment only, atleast you'll know what it feels like.

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(Work of Ghalib)

Times after.

Why are they here again. Life is full of wonders, be they good or bad. Nobody can face the world with their eyes open all the time. Close them for a while. Will there still be lost shadows or forgotten songs of love. How about long lost memories or broken dreams. So what if they're not now, they were once mine. And that's all that matters. Atleast to me. Where are the fairest of hopes. Where's the meeting place of wants. Those times were colourful. Those melodies I remember. But now the heart asks. Were there such days at all. There's only one thought left. Even though the happiness might have dissapeared. The damn heart is still here. It can never suffer enough. But that's not the end. Given it was a mistake. The pain was pure. But even the sorrows of those mistakes felt like joy.

There are a thousand wishes and each makes you suffer. Many a wish I may have realized, yet I yearn for more. This is who we are. That's how we were made. You and me aren't new, our relations are as old as us. But we are all transitory on a level we don't really understand much about. We can't live forever, we might not be here tomorrow, but we might in the memories of someone but once they die, we do too, again. It's better than dying once. Dying a few times.

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(Work of Khayyam)