meeting you

The window was closed.

Inside we all felt stifled.

I never knew who did that,

I never wanted to know

the reason.

I just had to act when

everyone else was trying to

play the game of guessing

insignificance and meaninglessness.

I unlocked that window one day.

Clean air spilled on my dry skin,

I inhaled raw purity,

once unknown but soon to be known

in the world I lived.

I felt what a sprouted seed feels

when morning sun shines on it.

That day I met you there, right there.


There was noise,

of asymptotic hopes,

of presumptuous probabilities.

They all wanted to argue

without checking the validity

of their squabble.

I had to leave alone,

to avoid staying submerged in

 lifeless theories and reasonings.

Life erupts when logic fails.

That cold evening offered moments

Of goose bumps

in my gorgeous neighborhood

which I never knew existed.

Under the gray sky with pink spots

of last sun rays, at that very moment

I met you once again.


Some distance I had to cover.

Some roads I had to check again.

It is so strange that some

exits take me to you,

many connections keep us distant.

We keep running into

each other

until we lose our addresses.

Some relations are not made

through post offices or emails.

Some missing links stay awake

inside us, passively,

accepting an uncertain timeline,

and the ebullient fact

that meeting again is prevailed.



Retrouvailles is a french word which means the happiness of meeting again.  The word is one of my ten most favorite words. There are days when I feel lost and then I meet myself again, randomly. It’s true that no matter how life treats us, the true happiness comes to us when we are ourselves – when we know us well, when we are true to ourselves. This poem is dedicated to that typical part of life.

Written for Weekly Writing Challenge


Author: Archita

Musings about life and photography.

14 thoughts on “Retrouvailles”

  1. I was wondering what that word means then read your explanation. Thanks, it helped to understand. very nice poem. So true happiness is being true to yourself.Beautiful.

  2. That’s a terrific bundle of words, Archita.
    “I felt what a sprouted seed feels

    when morning sun shines on it.” – WOW!!!!!

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