Ode to missed opportunity or why it could-not-have-been (after all)

I have a fascination for good coffee

But I try not to make it too often

With coffee I associate conversation

And your company

(tea does not have to suffer such associations)

Sometimes when the coffee is particularly good

I dreamily remember what could-have-been

Times that could-have-been spent together,

Conversations that could-have-been had

(It never happened though,

we were never good friends.

But I could never forget

that which could-have-been)

We could-have-had long conversations

over restless starry nights

We could-have-had long make out sessions

over quiet lazy afternoons

(We would most certainly have led a most decadent life.)

As I sip my lonely coffee

This dim October afternoon

And the building opposite reflects tobacco light

Into my room

You return to your house,

resounding with the laughter of children

and without a doubt I know why…

(apologies for bad poetry :D)

The building next door

I’d noticed the name before

on the building next door

though only in passing.

Do you pause anymore

when you come across a building

named after a popular icon?

Neither do I.

And this one was inside Police Officers’ Colony!

And so it came to be

that here I’ve been living

without a clue.

Until last week when I visited someone who lives in it.

At the entrance

I found a bust

bearing his name!

So I asked.

Oh yes, said she.

This plot of land belonged to him,

as did the building.

When he died,

his family distributed the apartments

among his crew.

This one belonged to his still photographer.

There it was then.

He died before the building was even finished,

and he certainly never lived in it.

But if he owned it, surely he must have come here,

walked the same earth?

That thought was enough to fill my heart

with a child like glee!

I glided home,

imagining that time in the long lost past

when Guru Dutt may have walked the same path.

Ageing

On my way to work today

I ran my fingers through my hair

came away with a strand,

the grey at the root

working its way to the tip.

More than halfway through,

just like life.

When we met again

Many years I spent wondering
what could have been
How things might have been different
if we had spoken up
Would they have been different?

How we may have been different people
had we not been racked by an unnecessary guilt
Would we have been different?

How we may have met
had we met without context.

Many years later, the storm has passed
leaving behind an engulfing peace,
a quiet acceptance
and faith in the belief
that if this is how the Universe intended it to be
this is how it best is.

And so it was amusing to see
that meeting after years
you were more nervous than me.

Coffee post midnight is a bad idea... Contd

Is it the caffeine
that’s keeping me awake
Or thoughts as yet unthought?

My head hurts
from lack of sleep
But I struggle to stay awake
hoping to finish that one last conversation with you
Inside my head.