Perspective

So I met this man yesterday,
Who, perchance, made me dwell on objectivity.
Was it all symbolic,
This meet?
An action of serendipity meets oblivion?
Whatever, be it,
The meeting, that hazarded the hour long chat,
And passive smoking in the stair case-
Was a thought provoking discussion-
An opportunity to sit back,
And not relax.
Maybe, 'twas time to give a break
To an unending flow-
To a drift, along the tides.
Clustered in the data of living,
Armed with no conclusions,
Is a claustrophobic sensation alert.
Hedged in a mental box,
With all 5 walls intact,
The mental faculties have gone to waste.
Atrophy has beseeched the cellular progression.
And all these came crashing onto me,
As I stared at the colors.
He lived his life to the fullest,
A rare happy soul-
His joy was contagious.
Colors could only show confidence,
And the lens with which he saw his world.
Orange specs, glinted with the green Swatch,
The greens, and yellows,
Further fermented to the V-neck sweater
And the brand new pair of jeans.
His steps,
A mild bounce,
He waltzed, out of the door,
Shooting questions,
Piquing more of my interest.
Looking at him,
I wondered,
Was it a facade- an escapist mentality,
Or really him in flesh and blood-
Primarily thought and design.
My existential crisis,
Gained further momentum,
As I realized in panic,
About losing my own zen-
My state of being,
Thus lay strewn askew.
There was not even me,
Willing to glue the fault lines.
Passion, is mostly,
What I vouch for in life-
But resorted to an island-ish mentality,
Sans any touch,
I realized, as I objectified my stance,
That there's nothing that I stand for- anymore.
No share of thoughts,
No spiel of words and sayings visited-
It's an absorption and a drainage system.
Question to combat the systemic living thus,
Brought anew a fresh flood of unshed tears.
I wonder, when does an end lie,
To all degeneration and waste.
The colorful man,
Even spoke of Politics-
A subject, I least associate myself with.
What struck me,
Was an eagerness, to see a shine,
Set aglow more dreams,
As bountiful as the blue blue sky.
'Twas that moment,
That I chose to glance out-
To be met by the grey fog,
That hung over my share of Good-gaon sky.
Irony, of life,
I thought,
And suppressed the chuckle,
That would have otherwise,
Brought on,
More curiosity-
Which I could not comply to.
I see the world and me-
As colorless degrees
At two opposite ends of
The long continuum of life.
I see most stares meet vacuum,
As the mind remains empty,
And inner peace, a jaded colorless machine.
You need a point of view, he'd said.
Too right, I concurred-
What I lack,
Is a perspective !