O Postcard! I miss you so!
With pictures full of colors and life
And little handwritten notes,
You captured moments in time.

You no longer arrive at the door.
No longer do people want to write.
It’s the age of IM and do you know?
Emojis and texting rule, but IDKY.

With you, words would often flow
Thoughtfully penned line by line.
Little bits of the heart and soul
That kept relationships alive.

Even the beautiful photos spoke
Of visits to people and places nice.
Invitations, news, updates, and more,
To send a postcard was just fine.

Now you are just a memory
Of the lives of people long forgotten,
Kept in museums for all to see.

Or locked in a chest in the attic.
Sometimes, sold as a collector’s item
Inspiring poetry and stories.

Puppets – that’s what we are
On the largest stage in the world.
We think we hold the controls,
But the truth couldn’t be farther.

We all need to play our parts
In our many assigned roles.
The stage is grander than we know.
We have to be masters of our arts.

The strings holding us together,
The acts that steal the show,
The stories that ebb and flow,
Are all by the Master Puppeteer.

We are all cosmic performers
On a stage that grows and grows,
We will continue until our last hour –
Till the time the curtain falls.

Once upon a moonlit night,
When the breeze was cool
And the stars were bright,
Up, I flung a line and hook.
I caught a comet buzzing by.
I zipped past the silver moon.
She winked at me with a smile.
I went on into the dark blue
Flanked by twinkling fireflies.
I met the magical fairies, too,
With glowing unicorns as rides.
They gifted me a pair of shoes
To skip across the midnight sky.
They played a song on the lute
And bid me stop and sing awhile.
We danced to the beat of the tune
And ate our fill of moon pies.
Till I heard a bird sing, “Cuckoo.”
It called out to me many times.
I rubbed my eyes, and then, I looked
At the wall-clock as it struck five.
O ’twas but a dream so beautiful.
A journey that was entirely mine.
A dream like a tiny drop of dew –
One I’d remember for a long time.

‘Tis not the roses, but the thorns in our path
That turn us into warriors by making us strong.
If you just think about it, you would understand,
There would be no heroes without the villains.

Fairy tales wouldn’t have happy endings without the evil witches.
We wouldn’t know success if the challenges never existed.
Yes, it’s all about the way life creates a balance
To mould us all into various versions of perfection.

The thorns in our path are actually blessings.
Without them life would be endlessly boring.
There would be no wishes or prayers.
There would be no heaven or hell.

The thorns in our path may hurt or make us bleed,
But we need to accept them wholeheartedly.
Only then would we search for ways to tackle them.
Only then would we make progress in our lives again.

Sometimes it becomes difficult
To put the past in perspective.
Then, consider the butterflies
Beautiful as they fly and alight.
Does their past matter presently,
Or is it a milestone in the journey?

If we wanted an answer to a query
Related to science or even fairies,
We’d search for that in a book,
Or the Internet is where we’d look.
The past is just such a reference
It holds our entire life experience.

We can always refer to its pages
For solutions in our life’s stages.
This is how we all learn and grow
It is the best teacher we’ll know.
Yes, the present is where we live
With the cues that the past gives.