perfect strangers

by prasanna   Feb 2, 2020


reality offers cruel gifts,
like the truth;
the raw, unabated truth.

sometimes the truth isn’t enough.
we bury the hurt and carry on
with the day, fishing the crowds
with callous eyes, till we get
snared by another pair of
wandering eyes.

a momentary conversation -
offering up the best parts of
ourselves, knowing they have
an extremely short half-life;
but some parts beat the odds,
taking root in you and growing
off the boundless hope you keep
in your reserves. fruiting a fantasy
so vivid, you forget yourself, paying
little attention to the fact that you
shared no words with one another,
till you get jolted back to reality.

you let strangers die perfectly in your
care, while ignorant of how many times
strangers have built you mausoleums
in their minds.

    report violation
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Latest Comments

  • 4 years ago

    by Star

    I'm the type of person who remembers names better than faces, being honest I easily forget faces (even classmates that I once worked with). So why did this poem speak to me? It only happened once, there is one perfect stranger that I didnt speak to and only saw once, that I clearly remember their face. I clearly remember the look in the eyes for some reason felt very familiar. I keep wondering, if we had a conversation what would it been like.

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