Somedays I walked on a side walk to find myself as crazy and lonely as those with no roof,I would visit a place or two,
Lane too narrow with people very few.
In dark and in light,
In happiness and somedays with pouring sadness,
I would walk down those roads which would found me,
Accepted me where the drunk was happy and I would be there climbing out of my loneliness and being part of that society,
Culture or a world.
I would remember my short trips and my long walks,
I would remember my times where I felt like a whistle in silent night,
Where with me walked no one but my shadow,
Like a prisoner of time,
Like a story of crime
I would walk beside the lake behind my house,
I would walk under the street lamps too dim with people under them, sleeping, living too broken.
They would smile more than the ones in the afternoon daylight people.
” my dear, my dear heart would you rain again tonight ? Would you climb up, above all those memories and look at the moon ? Would climb up again with all the courage and strength and love your self again ”
Thoughts became as distorted as my self after evening orange sky, the birds would sit on my balcony, my window, inside the house, on the couch rather than going home.
it was a mess, a mess they found more reasonable and homely than the life of their own,
I would keep them company with my eyes and the drunk wind around us and they would fly,
Fly inside out of my heart,
Like a killer of a lover.
” what is there to search in search for ? I would stay here and you could be anywhere, anywhere where you don’t wish to be and you still don’t use your wings to find your desire and here I sit with my desire to find wings again. ”
Falsely and filthy,
The evening would dry me out, dry me out of stories, words and mostly my life,
The clock of hand would always be on run, always away and far, a place where I can never find it.
Would you be as false and filthy as me,
Don’t judge me but be with me,
I can’t hurt you anymore but may be someday I might love you,
Someday I might become a poet for you, write poetry on dry leaves, the ones which will touch your feet, I will pick those leaves and with dry ink, colour black I would write for you. Would you be kind enough to smile back and not love, just smile enough which has a meaning for nothing and everything.