Scribbling:
Tragedy of Wanderer:
“And again, he was sitting on the train, zooming past cities in slumber, slumber as if never to wake up again, as if ghosts have taken over lamp posts, lamp posts that screams of being tired of watching whole city crawl from dawn to dusk every day beneath and wonders who is cursed, he who has to watch them crawl daily, or they, who has to crawl daily beneath it.
Passing by silent fields holding blanket of darkness, darkness that lets many breathe, breathe as if suffocating for ages buried in light, light that keeps them unseen, unseen as if they do not exist, for darkness lets us see what light can never show.
Passing by woods and trees-still as if frozen in moment, moment that sways in silent nights, nights that brings them back buried in layers of skin one wears, wears as if faces-many, few, some, who knows but standing still they get a chance to hold on to those swaying moments and cherish upon them while firefly plays hide and seek around.
And, there was the moon, watching him watch him, through the thick window glasses; they know each other, for a long time now. They never spoke, never stood together, and could never hold onto each other before getting lost again in the grey clouds of life. They only saw each other often passing by, wandering, and wondering if they are to witness each other witnessing those sleeping cities, silent fields, frozen woods and swaying moments.
As they travelled that night together, again."
Tragedy of Wanderer:
“And again, he was sitting on the train, zooming past cities in slumber, slumber as if never to wake up again, as if ghosts have taken over lamp posts, lamp posts that screams of being tired of watching whole city crawl from dawn to dusk every day beneath and wonders who is cursed, he who has to watch them crawl daily, or they, who has to crawl daily beneath it.
Passing by silent fields holding blanket of darkness, darkness that lets many breathe, breathe as if suffocating for ages buried in light, light that keeps them unseen, unseen as if they do not exist, for darkness lets us see what light can never show.
Passing by woods and trees-still as if frozen in moment, moment that sways in silent nights, nights that brings them back buried in layers of skin one wears, wears as if faces-many, few, some, who knows but standing still they get a chance to hold on to those swaying moments and cherish upon them while firefly plays hide and seek around.
And, there was the moon, watching him watch him, through the thick window glasses; they know each other, for a long time now. They never spoke, never stood together, and could never hold onto each other before getting lost again in the grey clouds of life. They only saw each other often passing by, wandering, and wondering if they are to witness each other witnessing those sleeping cities, silent fields, frozen woods and swaying moments.
As they travelled that night together, again."
No comments:
Post a Comment