Somewhere Out There
They say that somewhere
there is a kindred spirit for each of us
Someone who complements our souls
Consoles our divergences
coalesces around our thoughts.
In a time and place where doors and fences
and false pretenses all yield
and probabilities stop their
monotonous sounds.
Somewhere.
Believe it if you must
Search for it if you will
Call out to the darkness
And listen to the sounds of silence.
Life is anything but predictable
Our place in it is not a choice
Just as our existences defy
probabilities.
Better to let chance and
circumstance have their way.
Only then can you
feel the strength of the
universe and know that
you are part of it.
And what was meant to be
will take care
of itself.
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When I got off the plane in Karachi in January 1977, I was greeted by a grumpy old man. And rightfully so. He told me that he was expecting a visitor from America the next day, and now he had to change plans, like leaving his room so the visitor, me, could occupy it.
But the California style house in a suburb was actually owned by the brother-in-law of the doctoral student who told me that I could stay there. After being entertained by a strikingly beautiful young woman who was a medical student, in the evening, the master of the house appeared.
Talha Siddiqui was a couple of years older than me and worked for a German pharmaceutical company. We hit it off immediately as though he was as close as my twin brother. It was that connection you wrote about.
Ten years later, he was visiting his brother in law in Illinois and gave me a call. We took off talking like we had just talked the day before.
Ron