Strange Stranger.

You know not of him.
You know not of her.
But not unlike an ubiquitous specter of lament and a certain malaise, they become a malady that defies both prescription and a description.
You knew not of her.
But you revered in her wiles,
And you’ve sworn allegiance to her mystery. Your acquaintance is casual, yet you prevail in useless travails that try to claim that yours is indeed a deep empathy.
An empathy bereft of sympathy. She’s libertine, you say she’s modern. He’s callous, you claim he’s manly.
A strange stranger.

In his veiled persona,
He gets away with so much.
For he has inconsequential virtue to loose. For even her name, you’re not sure anymore.
Jasmine is a flower, so is a Rose,
A name that any comely lass can be named after.
All of your secrets she’s stolen,
You gave them to her too willingly and readily.
In a mirthless existence, you chanced a laughter and told all, while he said nothing, Just gently urging you along the path of deceit, with a gentle and pious smile. How he softly killed your silly hurt heart. Whence you’ve crossed the rubicon, you will find your nadir, and tranquility will play truant to you. The strange stranger shall be gone. The dark night possesses his verility. The night lights shines her essence.
Two strange strangers, in strange places, possessed by strange spirits.

He became the air you breath.
She became the dreams you dream. But like a wanton mist, he misted away, not unlike a galloping white horse in a full moon, while she faded away, leaving you groping in darkness,
For a reprieve,
Of faded promises.
A mysterious tryst with a strange stranger is all that was left in your bitter lips. A taste of regrets. Accusing and forlorn.
She’s gone with her mysterious perfume, An intoxicating scent of half dreamed dreams. She’s gone with the stolen moments that never were. She’s just a stranger.
Strange you will never understand.
A stranger you will never apprehend.
A stranger you will never comprehend.
He is a strange stranger,
Who defies ethics,
She is a stranger,
Who stole,
Tender possessions.
Nascent passions.
You are the stranger.
I am the stranger.
We are the strange strangers.
The night is an abode of many strange creatures….

© Ayoub Mzee 2011

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