Strangers

I have been a stranger to love

And you have been so strange

For once,
Lets be the same!

For once, Let’s meet again

And this time, let’s not ask the names

Let’s not hear, what shouldn’t be said

Let’s not know, what we lost, what we had

This time,

be it a day when the past is sleeping,

a dreamless slumber

Be it a day, when the future looks away

And quietly,

Let’s just sneak out of present

Let’s meet at a place where time has no meaning

Let’s meet at a place where thoughts breathe slow,

Tenderly, 

blinking at the pace of our heart beats

And our hearts beat,  

at the pulse of soul

Let’s be strangers once again

To life, to past, to the gone and to what we might have

Let’s be strangers walking in the twilight

Let’s be strangers holding hands

Let’s love, like we never loved before

Let’s live like our eyes just opened

Let’s paint our moon black,
Let's hide the stars

Let’s seek each other in the dark

Where I don’t know who I am

And you don’t know who you have been

Let’s be strangers once again...

Resturant

I keep sitting on the chair across the table

A table for two, in a restaurant

The lights are dim, the sounds circle

And the faces before me keep on changing

I try to recall what their names were

And it’s already too late to ask again

I have no clue who I am with today

And I have no memory who was there before

I don’t know what they have been saying

Their voices sound so far and distant

My words fall out without a meaning

And leave no traces on my soul

Yet, I am here and I am talking

And I smile at them, to make it sure

My eyes fail to catch up with my lips

And my mind is too crowded to take any notes

Yet I am here, and I am talking

And people come, and people go

There is a painting of a Chinese fisherman

Hanging opposite to me on the wall

And the ceiling is all painted black

The walls around me, dark red

Everything seems to be moving in circles

And I am watching along with the walls

These walls, may have seen many faces

And I may have seen... even more

The voices might have echoed through these walls, 

trying hard to get across

But the walls … are walls!

So, I am watching along with them

I have no clue who I am with today

And I have no memory who was there before

I am a silent part of the background

Peeking through the fisherman’s eyes

Echoing the noise of forks and spoons...

And the words, that hit the walls of my heart

I watch over them all black, like the ceiling
dead, deep inside

People come, People go

People come, People go

I am no man’s home

The Third Eye

It’s been 29 weeks since we got stuck at this Island and 06 days. Yes, 06 days more. I never imagined how hard it can get to be with her, if it is only her and me. Even though we have been together since the first clock in the world ticked its first second. Yet, it took 29 weeks and 06 days on the deserted Island to understand how similar yet different we were. Our similarities collided with gigantic force and our differences were laid bare.

Me and her, the real and the reflection.

The Island has brought the past, present and future together in a way, as one folds a piece of paper and brings all the four corners together overlapping each other.

It is a place where time and life don’t walk hand in hand. One watches at a standstill while the other separates its ways and moves on. It is a dimension where gravity and air pressure cancel each other, null and void and the laws of physics are defied to create a possibility of exaltation, a state of floating between the gone, occurring and that what is to come.

It is where we are the spectators and we are the spectacle.

Most of the time, we sit at the beach and stare at the horizon, establishing a contact with the sun, the moon and the clouds; a relation of silent conversations, some disagreements, arguments, persuasion and agreements.

The battle between hope and disappointment is as constant as the cycle of night and day, one succeeds the other. 

We have started to realize that the world we lived in began here; it is here that it grew older and it is here that it will end to give birth to a new beginning. Beginning; the purest of all phenomena, sinless like an infant.

The Proposal

I am selling a clock that doesn't tick but they are offering me a good price.

I seek forgetfulness and they are giving me thoughts to force inside my head so that I wont think the new ones and I wont think about the old.

My truth has returned home, voice less and degraded. They are giving me lies, with a voice and words that are heard, respected and believed.

They are letting me borrow a skin that I can wear so that I am no longer nude.

My chest aches so I put my hand inside my ribs to grab and pull my heart out. My hand... came out empty. I found nothing. They say they will take 'nothing'. We are all people with hollow chests.