I often fly to the past,
a sweet picture runs before my eyes,
Gradually the picture blurs, fades away,
And silently my heart cries.
I ponder I've traversed a long way
From that lovely past to the lonely present
& without those hands firmly gripping mine
I feel like a full moon reduced to crescent.
Its ironical how life has its own story
of joining paths and a million heartbreaks
Insane is the heart that loves,
Despite the heartaches.