Ecstasy Of Life

For Aanchal Chauhan

Like a portrait hanging against the wall, 
All that passes, is a slide show of pictures, un framed. 
In bits and pieces, moments unfold, at all, 
And what’s left behind, are memories refrained. 
If it’s always worth the remembrance, mind’s no player, 
And we are no games. 
  
These feelings, they all stay together in one person, in one try. 
And yet the person’s impaired, beyond mistakes. 
Love lives in water-colours, flows down, and leaves the canvas dry. 
Still just a happy moment, is all it takes. 
If it’s always worth the expression, heart’s no player, 
And we are on games. 
  
At the zero hour, our flaws would come forward. 
We’d hope we don’t perish; we’d wish we had them undone. 
Like regrets, they’d find their ways inward. 
And learning to keep the guilt, the nights would reckon. 
If it’s always worth the confession, soul’s no player, 
And we are no games. 
  
At times, unnatural, our times will cross. 
We’d hope for answers, we’re probably unused to. 
Just as it comes, as disappointing as a loss. 
Choose to hang around, hoping, another day would do. 
If it’s always worth the wait, time’s no player, 
And we are no games. 

Author's Note

Read it with your subconscious active.