Red wall

On every special
Puff of breath
A picture comes in my mind.
Like a dear fragrance
From past.
No person in particular.
But a self painted
Red wall.
Full of pictures.
And that ehsaas
Of being in that room.
Living it free.
I being me.
I pull myself back
From that Street
That reached
A beautiful lakeside park.

I feel thankful
For my present.
Realise I am wasting it
Thinking of past and future.
That I should be in this moment.
And I realise
The eternal
Wheel of thoughts.
The end of one song.
And hollowness
Fills my mind.
I decide
To end the story
Right there.
But there
Another beautiful song
Begins.
It's a man
Wailing for his past.
But the music is sweet.
Human folly.
Yet too touchy.
Am I denying
The emotions?
Why?
Guess wanna stay practical.
To 'move on'.
To where?
I wonder.
'It's no easy journey',
I feel.
The pain that inside
Sits.
Keyboard songs
With all it's wooden hollowness.
Flute weeps
With the scream
Of a throat
Subdued
Into the inner spirit.
It says,
Change the song!
This one is nice.
Classical Sur.
The picture too
Seemed satisfied.
But the pain
In this voice.
Aah! Sitar in background.
Like a fort in dessert.
And there another one
Remembers someone.
He says, 'she is merged
In his memories.
Into him'.
I laugh
At the many headedness
Of this beautiful pain.
The pain called love.
The emotion
So beautifully sprayed
In the painting of our lives.
Like a varnish
That protects us
From dust.
That makes us shine.
Like a change in contrast
Every color under it
Shines.
But also are illuminated
The flaws of the painting.
Places which require shading.
Lines that become haunting.
And there I feel
The overall effect
That love gives.
Connection with the whole.