An Ode To A Stranger

To someone

Whose existence never bothered me

Neither did I know your name

Nor did I stress myself for that.

Your presence was like

That of an ephemeral

Whose ubiquity doesn't matter

Always in a state of quiescence.

Yet, I sit with

A piece of paper and a pen

To picturize you

With my not so perfect words.

Still, I obsess about you

To discover you more and more

Ignoring the supramundane world

My mind flutters over you.

When encountered with a blank paper

I stand amidst strangers

An unveiling wringer in my heart and mind

Blanketed with numbness

As I am afraid to talk to you.

Why it is awkward to talk to you?

Much onerous to sketch you

Blurred vision and a void mind

Although you exist in the globe of mine.

Still, I love to write about you

I love talking to you

Although our conversation is all silent

Please let me write about you.

After all,

A writer's mind is always occupied by strangers.