Uncertainty.
Every time i think that this is the destination,
Everytime i think that this is the end....of my search,
Everytime i think that this is here to stay,
Life reminds me that its all a mirage that i see.
This time around i again thought,
That this is here to stay,
But only to realize in a short while,
That life is far from such assurances.
That this might all be transient,
That this might again be a visitor in the inn of life,
By the side of this long road on way to nowhere.
That a candle lit in my darkness to burn for a few moments,
And then vaporize as if it was never there.
The quaint tune that floated down the hills,
Might just stop to play oneday,
Leaving the vaccuum of existence silent as before.
This stage is set for the ballad,
That might never be played at all,
But the echoes of the rehearsals and the forlorn decorations,
Shall tell of the earnest efforts of the playwright.
Can the playwright try to get it staged again?
poem by Anirbit Mukherjee
Added by Poetry Lover
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