If it were not for stories..

Cobbled streets.
Cement roads.
Cross-bridges.
Junctions.
Signals.
Breezes.
Open spaces.
Dreams.
Thoughts.
They're just words.
But,
Ah...
If it were not for stories..

Have you ever thought,
Of a lane?
Of a way?
That you've caught a glimpse of somewhere.
Oh, not the same somewhere.
Somewhere else.
Where roses were pink.
Think
For a while.
Think.
Why do you positively 'know' that place?
Why?
After all,
There was
Just a barren dustrack.
And its twin.
Empty spaces.


Think.
Dig hard.
And you might find
That you saw
A Santro
Pass.
In both Poona
And say,
Hyderabad?
Think again.
Maybe
Since we are all human
And there is more
Alike one of us
In another
Than there is
In anything else,
Maybe
More than one someone,
Wished to ward off evil,
By means of the 'traditional remedy'?
Perhaps you saw a brother and his other,
At two ends of the world?
Or you might have seen
A protruding rock
Or a stray?
Or a child
Speak to his mother?
Or a signpost
That triggered a thought
Unique to you?
An idea?
In one place,
An idea.
The second time
The idea
Done with and dusted.

Remember
That
In this world
There is beauty
Not in the two cobbled streets.
No.
If I told you that two paths
In two places
Struck me as one
And the same
There would be no go.
The best part
Of this universe
Is that
There is logic
In every little thing.
There is magic
And art
In everything
Nature has got to impart.
Why?
Because
There is a story
To every nuance.
Every thought.
Each kindred soul.

There is probably a story
That ties
Bolt and Blyton together.
Isn't that a comforting thought?
That somewhere,
In some garden,
Or some hedge,
Or simply in a toy,
There is a story
That flings a coy.

There is a story that flings a coy..
Beguilling you into linking your pet with the Savoy.
Or a mesolith with a mouse.
Or a plain drive with the best day of your life.
Ah..
Ah..
 If it were not for stories..