travellerA Poem by Nothing Personalall the world's a stage on a Friday night
Distant music, a roll of thunder nearby
Proximal touch, but miles away from the heart On nights like this, you hold my hand in the bus and say "He does not love you he says" Apocryphal times calls for mind-boggling measures Distances diminish, alcohol arouses bourgeoisie fear She too had a name, before she left I too had a heart, that wept. Not for touch, not for her perfect draped body Not for rivery hairfall, slender legs in the sea But for miracles, yes we have met Traumatized thirteen minutes of togetherness. Forgot, male egos and stereotypes may still rule Life, queer, peculiar but yet so real. Rain, let it fall today on dry earth, pierce. Taxis, don't ever stop for night passengers. Music, play all over on affected nights. Boats come and go, we are all travellers. © Nothing Personal. May 15, 2011. © 2011 Nothing PersonalAuthor's Note
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Added on May 16, 2011Last Updated on May 16, 2011 AuthorNothing PersonalTXAboutHi !! I don't fuss too much about sharing a name or an identity. I came across this website and found it to be an interesting niche for writers without distinctive labels. It is a great place to befri.. more..Writing
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