Soliloquy

The world will give you pain,
Come on, let us console our hearts again.
Thinking about those who mattered,
When in need, a passerby, a stranger may come again.
The impressions of dark circles beneath his eyes,
Is a tale of waiting for those who were not to be seen again.
He had made his move and sighed,
But the game of chess is spread again.
The connect is lost, and so is the body;
The restless soul is captured in chains again.
Fluttering in agony in the hope to free itself,
Have hurt itself, and may not repair again.
The cage has become his desire,
Through which he could see, only a longing again.
Listening to his soliloquy, a friend asked,
It is still an alien feeling, express again.

Moments alone at Sunset.

The untold moments:
His fingers were dancing on the keyboard while he wrote reams of pages. His thoughts about his own self and about the changing time. It did not bother him if he was typecasting himself in a negative light. He had to write and so he did. Unrelentingly. And then there came a moment when he stopped typing. There was an abrupt silence in the surroundings. I looked up into his eyes, and saw a long story welling up in his eyes. He could not write further. Moving back with the chair he had moved away from the world now. He picked up his bag, his glasses, checked his mobile and walked out of the door, closing it behind him.
Together, alone: 
He didn't love her any longer; he had always known this but today when he spoke about her he realized it all the more that he was holding on to the cracks of the relationship from widening further, but for a very long time he didn't look at it as it had crumbled in his own palms; he was just holding on to the rubble of his life. He still stood with her, not as a companion but as an error that had cut his life into two halves. There was no show of consolation of a mutual feeling and if it ever existed from her for him in return, they didn't care any longer to look at it. He had failed, they had failed but still what emerged from this rubble were the little buds which would bloom and make his life worth living. And he in fact had lived for them.
Salvation at sunset :
Neither had he come to conquer nor to make his mark. He had come to wipe off the marks he had made in his last visit. He rubbed the mirror incessantly. He cleaned it and what he saw of himself was far different from what he once was. He saw an old, withdrawn image of himself which reflected that at last he was at peace with himself. Peace came, though late, as he now realizes, comes after many winters and in his case it came at a time when no sense of loss bewildered him any longer. He forgave those who had hurt him and apologized to all but one for having wronged them. The one who would never come and he would wait till eternity for that moment of forgiveness. He opened the last window and saw that the sun had already set. Leaving his spectacles on the window sill, he closed his eyes and feeling the cool breeze gently strike his face, he said to himself, ‘Do not despair, as I am coming there soon and you won’t be alone then.'