Diverse Thoughts Syncing

Pied Piper of despair

Weaving nomadic songs,

I’m walking in the dusk —

Cursing.

Pied piper on my lips, cheap cigarettes in my pocket,

Cursing melody in my tunes-

I’m leaving old memories.

On this dusty road-

In endless despair — I walk alone.

*

Small house, next to the field

A house, small in shape,

Just beside a field, hiding mystery in it.

I see the light shining, but where are the people?

I hear words; I listen to cries,

I hear small laughter and melody,

But, where are the people?

When night falls, stars shine-

I heard wailing in the middle of the house.

Today.

I dared to enter the middle of the house.

Doors open, walls are broken-

Broken furniture Here and there.

It seems familiar but somehow with unfamiliar vibes.

From one room to another, I walk around and search

I can’t find anything,

Where are the people?

The door of the last room is closed, shall I enter?

Neptune’s beard! Let’s see.

I push the door,

I see the room is empty.

Across the wall — there is a picture with a broken, dusty frame.

In the frame,

There is a house — next to the field,

Open doors, broken walls.

A house-

And-

In the last room-

Looking at a picture with a big dusty broken frame,

A lonely me.

(Initially published in Medium)