Runa Srivastava

Beyond the Sky

I have dreamed of a land beyond the sky,
Where mortal griefs no longer tread,
Where the tears of earth are left to dry,
And beauty wakes the sleeping dead.

There the rivers sing in silver tone,
Through meadows lit by faery flame,
And all who wander there alone
Forget from whence or why they came.

The stars are thoughts that lovers weave,
In quiet hours the heart recalls;
They fall through space on midnight’s sleeve,
Soft tapping on the crystal walls.

O soul, why tarry bound to pain,
When winds of wonder call thee near
The dust shall claim its own again,
But dreams, once born, are ever clear.

I have heard, when the world was still,
A harp-string hum through distant air,
As if the gods on some far hill
Remembered songs they used to share.

And oft I think, when dawn is pale,
That one bright gate will open wide,
And through that misted silver veil
My spirit’s ship will softly glide.

So let me walk where dreamers go,
Where twilight marries sea and sky;
For truth is more than men may know 
And life begins beyond the sky.

---

I Saw You Again

I saw you again at the post office
a chance encounter, nothing momentous,
and yet my pulse recalled another time.
At first, your gaze slipped past me,
as though I were a ghost of your yesteryears.

Perhaps it was the grey
this gentle frost upon my hair.
I never felt compelled to color it;
for silver carries a quiet distinction,
a kind of unspoken dignity
that youth can never quite counterfeit.

Softly, I said your name, "Samar."
You turned, startled,
then stared, recognition dawning
like sunlight thawing through a reluctant dawn.
“You’ve greyed, rather swiftly,” you said,
half in jest, half in disbelief.

How vividly it came rushing back
those university days,
when your compliments were sonnets in motion,
your words embroidered with earnest admiration.
Now they came measured, subdued
like music fading at the end of a ballad.

Perhaps time has etched itself more visibly upon me
the softened jaw, the tired eyes,
the stories my face no longer hides.
Still, I offered tea at Flurys,
a little catching up, perhaps,
the balm of conversation steeped in nostalgia.

But you declined
said you were in a hurry,
and your farewell was too brief
to conceal its awkwardness.

As I watched you disappear into the crowd,
I wondered quietly
was it truly the grey that changed your gaze,
or merely the years that have changed your heart?

And in that moment,
I touched a strand of silver at my temple,
and smiled
for even if time has altered the mirror,
it has not diminished the soul it reflects.

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