Glowing shadows

He is a waste of space .He paces around the four walls all day,moving into them as easily as he could move out. Waiting, thinking and smiling into nothingness. The shadows look through him and the people look into him.To him none of this matter other than those eyes. Those luminous green eyes that seek him, haunt him, lure him. It’s the madness that ignores him and the ignorance that engulfs him.

He vows never to go back yet he never looks beyond either .He drifts to nowhere, changing sides and flipping places like the two sides of a pancake. He stops occasionally, but only for the mere mortals to call out to him and say “Look there ! There he is, he is a waste of space.”

The absurdity of bus travel:

Today I met a friend, a friend yet unknown. He was sitting in the corner of a bus, just like every other day he sits in the bus, staring at his shoes. The world would pass him by, a blur of moving vehicles, advertisement hoardings and standing people. He would look at them all through the shine of his shoes. Sometimes he would while away his time by squinting at the words on the newspaper. He often pretended that these lines were tiny ants moving like a formation, changing their positions as their tiny ant minds would direct them to. Although these formations never made sense to him, he enjoyed their patterns every day.

Will anybody like this pattern, or will they like that pattern, do you know what patterns are?

His travels in this  bus was always unusually usual ,with the scene around him always painted in a strange  green that reminded him of nowhere .I would meet this unknown friend everyday on an uncertain bus top. It would please me immensely the day he had his face buried in the paper. Today was one such day. The skies were just stormy enough and the weather was dry, so I decided to ask him a question that I have been meaning to for a long time.

“Sir ,where do you go with your patterned paper?” he stared at me as if I was from a strange planet talking in Morse code .And then he scratched his bald head with exactly a single hair growing from its follicle.  After a whole two minutes of waiting he replied “err……..

Stranger of strangeness

If yesterday was never gone and today is still yet to be undone.

It would have taken more than that simplest leap of faith,

To believe,

That ‘this’ that is here,

As vague and indistinct as our sight

As real as all our wrongs but right where it is,

And right where it belongs.

To celebrate with the darkness of the shadows,

To fly with the weight of the light,

For there is no existing prophecies of tomorrow,

Something to look forward to and sigh.

If there were only a single face in the crowd, the world would have noticed it

but the non-existence of such a face would have been understood,

By the fairness of at least one mind in the crowd too.

We dream of drifting back and forth in the vortex of gain,

To love to follow, only to be chased

To be nowhere with anyone and yet dance.

And because it’s strange to be acquainted to strangeness,

We would even like to sway.