You find so many things on the way. The withering leaves, shrivelling tree bark, gaily faces, drooling ones, tender leaf blade that just saw an inch of land, a sand grain holding a bead of sweat, a surgical knife with blood that many are living for, two ignorant eyes with false hopes, a harassed soul, a soul with a bunch of hard earned notes.. and many different strangers ..
Out of all these, we are all a stranger to ourselves, few interesting lost pieces, trying to find ourselves in others. Every day, every moment, we try to find the self. A beautiful stranger indeed. There are more to these tiny, imperfect things that we find on our way. To find the mysterious, creative stranger in you, look more into things, in an enrapturing way. There’s a different meaning to what you see in others. They’re broken because of something, they’re not greedy since their birth, there’s beauty behind their ignorance, there’s a flow of lines behind every broken heart. Go, find it- you’ll find yourself. A new stranger.
When I see a broken heart, I’m just a stranger helping it fix. I find a fallen leaf and I’m a stranger who’s admiring its imperfections. I’ll be swooning, with my first hard earned award in my hand and I’m that stranger who blushes looking at her love.
Just, a stranger, trying to mend your soul. By a smile or by whatever it takes.
Learning to swoon with the stranger in me, you helped me find it. If I’m a ruptured soul, dear stranger, will you help me mend it?
i sat near the hen’s coop
trying hard, to understand Newton
for the test next day
waited, for the night to pass
it seemed stagnant
it tested my patience
my mind occupied with guilt
i was sorry, had to convey somehow
to the tall, slim boy, my friend
we fought; so silly of me, i thought
as i put aside Newton’s theory
just wanted to go to school
awkwardness crept in
as i sat near him
i was scared to kick start
eye contact was a distant possibility
my heart thudded
dumbness invaded me, i thought
if i don’t speak, guilt will hang on
even after my death
because intense was my fault
opened my mouth, so
to speak up ‘hey’
but! something else spoke
with weapons i’ve just heard of
they aimed at one, then one more, then another
as if their thirst is never ending
shot the pure ones with no mercy
yes! the guns spoke
i cringed under my bench
watching my classmates’ blood drip
i felt a sudden chill
when my friend grabbed my hand
i thought he bent down to hide
i was a fool, i realised
his blood was flowing down my pant.
his eyes met mine
for the last
i whispered “i love you, you’re mine, don’t leave me”
this is much more than a sorry
but he can’t listen
i’m not a happy survivor