The many years

Through the many years 

that played between us,

though the many years 

that lay between us- 

.

I see glimpses of my joy

in things that make you smile,

The more I look, and find of you

I see myself for a while.

.

Maybe, today 

I can say 

I see the reasons,

to your silence 

and to the words 

found in your voice, 

and as the seasons 

age with grace,

I see the world 

through your eyes.

.

The way we understand 

words without being

said in sound,

The way together we stand 

even when you 

are not around, 

and how I’ve seen 

pride shine in your tears,

when my name is 

uttered in praise…

and how we’ve been 

bonded stronger through the years 

and all the testing days…

gives my heart such a joy,

That not much else does 

than the many years- 

.

the many years 

that played between us, 

the many years 

that lay between us. 

.

---

---

 

I wrote this piece a couple years ago for my father on his birthday.

I miss him a lot today, and not because I’m away from him in my college hostel. But because I feel like we lose people. And fathers are people too.

We lose people in a mess of misunderstanding, we lose them while dipping down into our own confusing emotions. They are lost in battles of ego, in the reluctance to accept and let go, through hurting and being hurt.

We lose who they are. We lose the reasons why they are the way they are. The beauty of a person, the gentle, wonderful flaws they are made of are snuffed in atmospheres of norms and expectations.

Alas, a rose still stands for love, its soft fragrance unaffected by the fact that it grows amidst thorns. Just a smile is felt less than one which has tears tripping down its corners. A crack in the window makes the change of wind touch our senses. A heartbreak makes us realise the reasons we love and fall, and yet choose to love again.

Hope is a tinted window, belief is a fluid beam of light and our hearts are bits of glass that are beautiful for being flawed.

People change themselves and become unreal specimen of ideals that they never believed in. They cannot help it sometimes, for they are in the middle of circumstances they find no other way to surmount.

I wish, I wish we’d learn how to let go mistakes and misunderstandings. Or we’d keep losing people this way.

People are beautiful. The way they are.

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