Pattern ...

An airport with its usual din and bustle,

a city and those same hurry and hustle,

Café Coffee day and
 a small roadside joint;

from here we are propelled

 towards a promising future

with rainbow and an aquamarine horizon.

Just one occasional nagging voice:

sorrow or joy, nothing lasts;

there’s no forever!

A wart

ugly and uneven;

colorless and horrific,

a lump of grief

with secret roots

on an otherwise fair gleaming skin.

The doubt,

the uncertainty,

a raw wound

appalling and fatal

in an else loving relationship.

There’s a thin line between benign and malignant.