Streetlight

I had always imagined
A conversation with You,
Like this.
Sitting on a bench-
Far away from the eyes of omniscience.
In another city ,
In another time.
I had always thought of talking,
Out loud-
Voicing the thoughts of the Coward,
Mostly escaped from.
I had always wanted to show you,
The New Me,
That Time has framed -
And the ways of Life has sculpted.
So far.
See the changing expressions in your eyes,
As you digest them all.
Would I be seeking your approval still?
Child-like parts of me would ,
Obviate the grudged affirmation.
I had always wished for a careless meet,
As old friends,
With traces of the past,
Lingering benign,
As a happy after glow.
We shall talk and laugh,
All that we must-
Without any fire or ire-
That had besieged us for so long.
Free from certain shackles of social rigors,
That choose to settle on us-
That we choose to abide by.
Mostly - at times.
Yet there always would remain,
The zest to know more-
From afar.
The careful watchful eyes,
Shadowed.
Somewhere, the essence created long back,
Gets deepened without touch.
We don't need that.
We are wiser now.
As the novelty of the moment,
Bestows on me ;
Myriad images of the endless hand-held walks,
Our foot prints, through the sands of Time;
Flash across-
As my brown eyes,
Seek yours in the street light.
The green in yours-
Liquid Pools of Empathy.
Soft and Mellow-
As you look at me-
The look the same,
That had been 'mine'.
There is peace in companionship-still.
A chord effervescent,
Neither ever catalyzing the flow.

Road to Freedom

The phantom streets,
Of El Dorado beckons.
Where the golden sunlight,
Bounces off the jagged ends ,
Of the golden pebbles.
Azure sky with cotton patches,
Adorn a candy look,
With the vibgyor a happy smile.
Colors splash everywhere-
Beyond the elastic horizon-
As far as the eye can see.
Starry velvetty nights,
With the cool breeze,
Mocks- tantalizes with its elusive illusion.
Music notes run amok-
None chasing them-
Letting the melody flow.
The mellifluous voice,
Stirs its listeners,
With a passion deeply suppressed.
Somewhere, the poignant strings,
Of a violin,
Turn the gaze soft in melancholy-
Letting it drift to the burning embers,
Of incomplete chapters.
The numbers flow on-
As the guitar gently weeps-
Arocknida man- 
Playing for peace,
To bring to life,
The dormant inside that disgruntedly sleeps.
The dancing shadows.
Match steps to beats.
Freedom calls out,
Its tentacles a magnet.
Freedom to be out on the
Streets- past midnight-safe.
Freedom to be happy,
In company.
Freedom- to shed all defences
And peel off pretences,
Instead be a child once more.
Piggy-backs and bike- rides,
Ceaseless conversations,
Over endless coffee cups.
Smell the air- so pristine,
Feel the noise- so real.
Let go,
Push against all boundaries-
For 'truth' to be given a chance- again.
Though very different,
With each other,
We sense unity.
There is a bond-pulsating-
Nascent in its form still.
Yet somewhere,
It looms larger than life today.
The urge is a physical itch almost-
To be part of this certain dream.
To be lured back into,
The magic of Pune.