Though we are fascinated to reminisce in nostalgia of a place , I believe the idea of what we are nostalgic about may have changed . Whether it is a physical place which has changed too much or whether it is contained in the abstract space that we talk about referring mostly to a combination of people and places. My recent trip to Gangtok allowed me some time to rethink what I thought I knew about a place and how it brought back memories in some sense. I no longer believe that the place by itself has significance which transcends time, it is ever changing and every planar, and though it is true that so are people, what we look for in Nostalgia is that sense of familiarity. Our places lies in fiction, in our minds, as do our spaces which follow us around never too far behind. In any case as my journey ends this time , I am pensive about changes I see and wonder if this is a version that I would choose to remember years from now.
From This and For Now
From this and for now, the places will lie still just like the cold winter wind,
The view from the window to the outside world, lay behind the curtain of chance.
For now they are all but known too well and yet they are left untouched, and unseen,
They are wrapped in a warm blanket and often as special as an unfinished dance.
For now there are the insignificant pieces we write, we will write to grand ventures still,
We will reminisce even in journeys that lay incomplete, we are wanderers we are mad men of our will.
For many have written to fictions, we have taken some roads head on,
We have forgotten where we may lead ourselves, and sometimes even where we started from.
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From this and and for now we are unburdened , we carry nothing but a backpack on our back,
We are light headed in our own way, we are high on life and yet we look for nostalgia that we had
The cold winter nights wrapped in a blanket lay, the day outside teased through the window panes,
It waited patiently at times, and sometimes sneaked in through the weaves of curtain in thin lines
We have all been attached to the familiar self, whether we look for places or spaces that do not show,
Whether we build a fiction, or is it all in my head I do not know.
We were build by random adventures still, we will revisit you even if you are long gone,
Because we are storytellers in our head, each one of us, from this and for now.
From This and For Now
From this and for now, the places will lie still just like the cold winter wind,
The view from the window to the outside world, lay behind the curtain of chance.
For now they are all but known too well and yet they are left untouched, and unseen,
They are wrapped in a warm blanket and often as special as an unfinished dance.
For now there are the insignificant pieces we write, we will write to grand ventures still,
We will reminisce even in journeys that lay incomplete, we are wanderers we are mad men of our will.
For many have written to fictions, we have taken some roads head on,
We have forgotten where we may lead ourselves, and sometimes even where we started from.
We are light headed in our own way, we are high on life and yet we look for nostalgia that we had
The cold winter nights wrapped in a blanket lay, the day outside teased through the window panes,
It waited patiently at times, and sometimes sneaked in through the weaves of curtain in thin lines
We have all been attached to the familiar self, whether we look for places or spaces that do not show,
Whether we build a fiction, or is it all in my head I do not know.
We were build by random adventures still, we will revisit you even if you are long gone,
Because we are storytellers in our head, each one of us, from this and for now.
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