Ides of March

Walking in loops and circles
With ear-phones on-
The song that moves,
Doing rounds,
You think back to the year
And the series of What-Ifs or Never-Hads.
A quixotic year,
Chaotic supreme,
And a drudgery through
The wafer thin rays of sunshine.
Music plays on,
Trying to evoke the submerged emotions,
You pull the hood low-
Cover eyes.
You want the tears to fall,
But they remain numb too.
You meet childhood faces of joy,
And realize that it's a long forgotten word,
Indeed.
You look up at the twinkling lights,
Adorning the street of dreams-
Park Street comes alive in all it's glory-
And besotted you are touched by the magical realism
Of the moment.
Long to escape,
Run away to regain life
And another shot at happiness.
You look back at the childhood face again -
It looked resigned and disinterested.
The happiness around,
Didn't seem to touch either.
The two faces have lost their route to innocence,
Or the truth in it's meaning !
In fact, the merry revelry,
Seemed distant and fake-
Artificial in it's rancor.
It augured ugly in it's smirk.
The music in the head droned on-
Urging the insane to laugh at the own debacle.
Looking at the inane then,
From the parental eyes,
It's a spectacle surely !
The charade holds together,
By weak stitches sewn in dread.
Unable to meet the wise eyes,
The chameleon resorts to the cover of hood.
Yearning for Ides of March,
To mark the flight to freedom,
And charting the course,
Along the mind map,
The sheathed eyes,
Scorch the azure blue above.
Spring time,
Must then bring a step and a rhythm,
To the jump,
As the rabbitty prints scurry far away-
For shelter,
In an unknown wood.
Maybe with the dying notes,
And gilded embers-
That wreathe the joyless, hapless and loveless
Will peace come too,
As also the end.