The horizon is but a simple line that defines a busy city,
Clouds; quietly framed, aflame.
Where a sense of failure looms larger than destiny.
Dark shadows sans details are to be seen everywhere,
Be it a looming building, plants, trees or a silhouette of a person
All stand as silent figures as if shaded by the sun.
Are none but prisoners chained to their own needs
Living in a world that is no more than just an illusion
Revelling in the pain that is more or less self-inflicted
Madly chasing illusions like a lost traveller in the desert chasing a mirage
Mastering in camouflaging the scars that he can sometimes hide
Slowly; learning and changing from the mistakes he has made.
Is a continuous ongoing process
It’s chapters even though sometimes long or short are waiting to be read
With each having its own receding horizon
Each interlinked with the other in its own special way
While hearts cry for joy and our minds weep, confusions and apprehensions
Always playing the spoilsport; looking forward to the future yearning for a love to be kept.
Is the rendition of the destiny
That oft’ paints clouds with silver linings
With each sundown at the horizon under the new moon
Symbolizing the dawning of a new time,
With travellers knowingly setting new limits and new goals to conquer
And little bright hopes soaring the skies like birds in the ocean.