:: Conversations with Wendy ::
You know, there are dinner conversations, those one-on-one kind,
That are interspersed with awkward silences.
Conversation ceases to flow, and the
Interlocution becomes a clumsy attempt to
Fill up such cavaties with surface chatter.
So what was the last movie you watched?
What was your favourite fruit again?
Whoa it looks like its going to rain.
The list goes on.
Then again, there are those dinner conversations, albeit a few,
Where points of view are shared, and like consecutive rungs
Of a ladder the exchange actually brings the intercourse to a
Higher level: be it a witty banter, or a serious tete-a-tete.
And hence, dinners with Wendy can be such a joy.
We spoke of the past, the present and the future,
We shared our beliefs, those that we hold dear to ourselves
In cognisance of the issues of the world-at-large
And reiterated our dreams, like kids, without a care
Of how impossible they could be, for we could be kids
After all, and for the moment relish in the potential
Of the uncreated future.
Without fear of being ridiculed for our idealism.
I recall Drifting, my 97 poem.
Drifting in the boundless sea
that reflected the twinkling stars above.
Drifting, we shared our experiences
and talked about things like love.
Drifting, we reminisced about our past
and all the little other things.
Drifting, we gazed at the Orion
and wondered what the future brings.
Drifting, drifting, we drift away
from the conventions that tie us down
from the restrictions that make us frown.
Like dreams, we drift.
Drifting, we sail home....
And so we do.
The drifting never ends.