From Ghostly to Glory

When I was 17, I'd met a man,

He'd asked me the reason for my happiness.

When I'd said it, he'd chuckled and replied bluntly 

That he was truly happy for me and her. 

He’d also apologized for the unruly chuckle.

Moments before signing-off, he'd left a letter,

A one-liner, down my memory-mail-box.

He'd written – ‘See you down the solitary lane.’ 

And I'd kind-fully allowed those words 

To slip and drip off through my mind. 

 

Surprisingly, I met him years later, 

Down the same lane that he'd addressed - 

A dark, drought, low-lit solitary lane. 

He still looked in same pain and sickness. 

He’d turned into my left-hand man,

We’d drive along on the same lane,

Parley or battle with the same pain,

Kill or compromise with similar demons,

And end up at the same starting point after a round,     

We circled in the circles that wouldn't seem to break. 

 

If I look back now, I'm glad that I bounced back, 

And managed to drive off that lane; better and sane. 

I’m happy to be able to write it out loud now.

I wish the wise man gets out alive someday as well, 

To witness what’s truly lifeful and exciting,

And what’s utterly hell and mundane.

I'm thankful to him for helping me out in

Extracting a rigid and persistent man out of me, 

Keeping the vivid and precarious young boy at low. 

I'm thankful for this life and the person that I am now.