Walking down the lane,
with my friend,
late at night, away from home.
Silently, we walk, gazing at the night sun,
consumed by our own thoughts.
We both sat near a pond,
serene ambience all around,
beaming moonglade over the wavy surface.
I took my pad out,
taking my words away from this worldly chase,
watching this absurd scene.
My friend called out and asked me a question,
stating he was not trying to be mean.
"What are poems? What's the need?"
That moment, I knew—
no answer would suffice,
quenching the thirst of his practical mind.
I kept my cool, I kept quiet,
still thinking about that question of time.
A hilarious thought crossed my mind—
"In straight words, I can understand,
but to understand this fish, I need a twisted tale."
A tale of my heart, not of my mind.
A necklace made of beads—the words—
required to enchant the story.
A message of tears,
a message of smiles,
a fable on rewind,
not being understood by many.
Oh, that’s fine.
For with poems only,
one can pause the timeless time.