To an unknown person

To a certain Gaurav Jain's friend as he told me (and other anonymous commenters, readers who don't comment).

You sit so content and quiet there,
Reading in your rocking chair.
The words I with fiery passion write,
To you seem lame or bring delight?

I would love to know, which of those,
You find in my words, I so carefully chose.
Brickbats boquets, I welcome them all,
I just want to know I'm read afterall!!

:-)
Written at an airport enroute to tromso where in going to see the northern lights (pray for me on that count). And this the shortness of the poem. Might add more later.

Weaving Dreams.

Tears in my green eyes,
are now a common sight..

Behold this world of lies,
where nothing seems right..

All my hopes, desires and a dream,
I thought the world was just and fair,
how sour but was this cream,
of the world my lair..

Now so high is my fear,
that years on I do not dare,
that my eye may shed a tear,
and I lose one for whom I care..

Now as I start to leave,
the tears you fell for me,
help me to tenderly weave,
a plethora of dreams to see...

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Lying awake in each others arms,
cuddled up in the early morn,
falling prey to each others charms,
I'd say, quintessentially lovelorn...

The light grows and the birds awaken,
the time of parting comes even closer,
kiss in haste, our embrace we tighten,
soon must we bid adieu to one another...

The goodbyes said, the parting kiss done,
I walk on home, in the fiery break of dawn,
etched in memory, the night shall remain,
lovely and tender, yet perhaps, a cause of pain...

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Are we living a moment at a time.
or
Are we dying a moment at a time.

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Not the happiest man in the world perhaps,
as I see the hands on the clock move so fast,
Not the saddest man in the world for sure,
as I fulfill dreams, and dream some more...

Wondering what it could behold, the future i mean,
me hobbling on a cane, greyed, wrinkled and lean,
that I know will happen, and have long with made peace,
it is not my worry or anxiety, the time of my decease...

For on my mind are simple questions galore,
of life down the lane, five-ten years, maybe more,
oft I find myself wanting to move far ahead in time,
only to wake to reality on the sound of the clock chime...