Too crowded

I miss him today,
Maybe because I know he isn't around anymore.
Because, I don't have access.
Or the memories and how he made me feel.

I remember old songs,
And even agree with random lyrics.
Things that remind me of him.
I smile to myself.

But it is probably for the best
That we went our separate ways.
There doesn't seem to be enough space for me in your life.
It's already too crowded. 

The Hiker

I cannot seem to take off those rose-tinted glasses you put on me.
The spell casted seems everlasting; I feel shackled.
Steps taken would be much stable without the confusion
And the onward vision far clearer, without the fog. 

I have tried to break the shackles and fly away,
But the power that you have 
And the strength with which you embrace my being
Is overwhelming. More than I can endure.

I sense a great mountain before me,
And a wilderness of thorny bushes to navigate through. 
The lacerations are already visible 
Yet unavoidable. 

The hiker in me is determined to climb to the top of the mountain.
To enjoy the view by conquering the wilderness and the fog. 
Discarding the rose-tinted glasses and the shackles you have on me
Would be the ultimate triumph for the hiker that is me. 

I wonder whether I am born in the wrong era

I wonder whether I am born in the wrong era

as I don't seem to connect.

All these networks, devices and media don't help either,

as I long for the painstakingly written long letter,

infused with the aroma of the writing pad and the person writing,

wanting to engulf in their thoughts and walk in their shoes for a while. 

I wonder whether I am born in the wrong era

as I seem to value relationships differently.

These quick fixes and phobia people attach to commitment 

aren't my cup of tea.

Because I come from the loyal tribe, where we stick through thick and thin. 

I wonder whether I am born in the wrong era

as my worldview appears to be unique.

The generation above me understand me 

more than my peers and contemporaries. 

I am told I think beyond my years. 

These thoughts aren't new either, 

but heightened with the passing of time.

I value philosophies and find solace within the pages of a book

I find meaning in the quality of life and the bonds made, 

and abhor the petty thoughts and the decietful behaviour of people. 

Doubts

I wonder if you will ever cease to exist. 

Whether you will continue to appear before me,

To make me second guess every step I take.

Doubts, I wonder if you will haunt me, always,

Putting poisonous thoughts in my mind.

Conjuring unlikely situations.

I do ponder, half let you win.

But, I do want to take that next step, that step forward.

So doubt, do you think you can let me be,

Let me continue on this onward journey of mine?

How does one know?

What does it mean to know the undertone of your voice 
And understand something is wrong?
How is it, that the tone of your voice
Brings back memories and feelings guarded within?

How does one know what you mean 
When wake-up calls are promised?
And why does it matter when 
Enough reading hours aren't clocked in?

Do you still care, for your forehead to wrinkle
When you worry about illnesses and how it happened?
How does one know what you mean to them
When so many silent days have passed, without a word?

Will chocolates, perfumes and presents
Really fill the hollow within?
Or will there be days when hands will be held
And hugs and kisses will be the norm again?

How does one know?