Sunday, 4 November 2012

The Life Not Lived

I have almost forgotten the life not lived.
It was not so very different, perhaps,
From this. The same comforts, and some faces,
Persist.

On the whole, I think,
It was satisfying,
Like an absence of hunger can be.

Almost, but for pages like these,
And long evenings, and fading leaves
That remember a might-have-been me.


My life not lived searches high and low,
It haunts the street corners that we both know,
For a sign, a tap at a lighted window-
Till "Where were you so long?" said she.

4 comments:

R said...

I Really like this, bujhli?

Prince of Mirkwood said...

Why does it end on a note of suspense? :)

Sneha Vakharia said...

This is lovely.

Shalmi said...

God, I just realised that I still need to moderate comments.

R, I really like you.

Anoorag, you tell me :)

Sneha, thank you, so is much of what you write.