The stranger

After we make love

We watch the TV shows,

Not my favourites – I hate them –

Just the ones that you love.

Because, I like the man you love.


We blow puffs at each other,

Gold Flakes or Davidoff Lights.

Maybe because smoking kills,

And maybe it’ll kill all the men,

Except this stranger you love.


And when after the goodbyes,

When life takes over again,

And familiar men start waking again,

The stranger goes off  to sleep

And lives in dreams of those puffs again.

I have always been a great believer. I've flitted from one belief to another, from religion to atheism and from one philosophy to another, until I finally settled on J. Krishnamurti whose philosophy is that there is no philosophy. So now I firmly believe that there is nothing to believe. Now such a belief would, I believe, have been considered dangerous to society if the authorities had believed me to be of any consequence. No man of consequence they believe would waste his time on the pursuit of blogging!

Tagged with: , ,
Posted in poem
One comment on “The stranger
  1. ruchikokcha says:

    Very Bukowski-ish this one.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

click to receive nonsense by mail.

Join 525 other followers

my rantings
Like to assess my site?
Guest Counter
  • 142,658 tourists
Picked by Blogadda
Page copy protected against web site content infringement by Copyscape
%d bloggers like this: