In the hand that feels,
And the heart that sees,
There is a thought that lingers.
The ripples created at the middle
Always reach the shore,
Sometimes above, sometimes below
The cruel dreams that shatter
Life’s moments worth living
Those that keep your head above clouds
While your feet tread on water
In search of land, terra firma
For the tantalising pull of what
Could have been, but never would
Is much better than the mundane
Things that are, would always be.
Perhaps remorse is love, for in its last act
All it wishes for is to be known,
A heart seeks forgiveness, the
Yearning to be close.
The weary souls see above
And at that twilight, lies the darkness
The cusp, an oasis of dreams.
Regret, they’d say, is more moving
And its wily cousin, more taxing.
In a bond strengthened by love,
What is real, if not the dream?