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The past, is like ink on paper.
Present. Permanent. Persistent.
The thoughts I’d had then,
Feel like a different universe now.
A universe in which you would have been,
In love with your work, and I would have been,
Close to you, in your city.
But that’s what it is. A universe,
In which I don’t exist.


The future, that ways,
Is like air in a balloon,
One pinprick away,
From going kaboom!
Plans don’t ever materialise, and still,
I plan. Patch up the balloon, and fill it,
With air. A pinprick away! Kaboom!

The present, is where we live.
Where you and I, share an universe,
With all of its complexity, imperfections,
It’s where I love you, and you love me,
And we hope, and work, so that we’d be,
Together one day, in each other’s arms.
The present is, where I write you poems,
So you may have a good start to your day!
The present is where we live, you and I.
And dream, and hope, and love.