The Stranger Next to Me
There is a stranger next to me, And somehow its story bewilders me.
This stranger comes with many faces, Yet somehow you can always sense its traces.
Sometimes the stranger is busy scrolling on the phone, Surrounded by people, yet travelling alone.
Sometimes the stranger quietly reads a book, Unaffected by the noise or wandering looks.
The stranger’s dressing often amuses me, And I wonder what inspirations shape their identity.
At times our eyes briefly lock, But unfamiliarity quickly interrupts the story.
There is a stranger next to me, Travelling day in and day out, just like me.
Somewhere in another dimension, Maybe we would have connected deeply. But damn this city, And its culture of silent disconnection.
Virtual worlds now dominate the eyes and heart, Making real people invisible to one another.
“Hello stranger, how are you? How was your day?”
Sometimes I genuinely wish to ask.
But the fear of being misunderstood Stops the conversation before it can even begin.
Still, somewhere inside, I hope we connect someday.
And maybe one day, The stranger next to me will simply smile and say, “Hi.”
