Never fall in love with a wanderer,
They take you to places
Until they splurge you with their paint brush ino Vincent Gogh's starry night.
And you float lost till they find you again and whisper silent stories to ease you,
The ones that are hard to believe.
And the next moment, they ask you to leap out of it giving you a hand which has the power of electrocution to its touch.
And you stick to those spaces in between their fingers as if DC current stuck you in.
They are transient and you know that but
You deliberately drown into their transient smile even when they do not ask for it.
Love them, even when they do not need it!
They just let you be but you become them and
They are then seen,
Holding hands and running away with you to the most adventurous trip of your life
I told you they take you to places
From busy streets, to silent valleys , to lanes of longing till they leave you in the grim poverty where you hear cries and find struggles you have never seen.
They can make you sleep in the bare desert, feed you their wandering skin, quench your thirst with trust but never give you their soul, no matter how hard you try,
While you lose everything slowly with a flash of their eyes, you bruise a little
Those are cold yet fixed eyes which behold thousands of questions, tonnes of dreams and a few desires you will never get to know .
Remaining unknown injures you.
They are scary, yet you turn yourself into them.
For it is hard to find people
Who can smoke the sky with you and sneak inside the mid of the earth, just to find whether trace of cold exists there or not.
They are all the poison and sweet you need
You will live with them but forget to breathe
There is a heart beating inside you but you die each time they leave your hand, just to find you again.
And you like it the way it is even if it means holding roses with no petals but thorns.
You run wild with them: feet bruised, eyes swollen, hand intact, fingers cringed together,
Panting at paces undiscovered, laughing at a pitch unrecorded, crying at the wolf's howl.
Your body becomes a flaming fire when they are around
And all you know is to keep it burning.
And dance to those flames in your worst moments
Till they feed you with their cold water.
Time is no bound, freedom is your friend
And your friend needs the wanderer.
Which makes you nothing but a parasite
You suck every inch of them into you but every time you miss out to get that one thing
That one love you crave for.
Then you let the day pass
Halting to be a sucker, for you find your abode of peace in their mystery
You know they
always run behind something, always run away from someone
But you let it be unless that someone is you
You grow with them but they won't let you die with them.
They are like those peculiar deceptors in the circus where you are nothing but a child wondering about how they acquired those skills.
That can make your heart beat at a pace where in the next moment you are bound to gasp at your life's biggest revelation.
How deep is that, but you also know that it is nothing but too shallow a thought.
But who cares, for with them
You will learn to kiss like it is the last day,
Learn to speak without saying
Learn to love without expressing
Learn to fall without dying.
They can teach you all these skills
Yet they will never tell you their biggest trick :
The trick to unlearn things, to unlearn people
And you cannot ask them to explain it to you
Because they never asked you for anything, did they?
And one day they do what they really do:
Wander away
No Vincent Van Gogh, no starry night, no cry of the children
Wander away from you, cutting down the electrocution, taking away every inch of themselves
Without a goodbye, taking away a part of your life with themselves to add to their own.
Just like the witch in your childhood stories.
Those whom you feared.
And you do not know how to heal, how to stop the blood flowing out of the wound they ate off your heart.
You do not know how to step out of the world they created
Neither for yourself, nor for the person who you have become with them.
They turn you into a wanderer too
And you keep searching for them
Almost impossible to be loved
Almost impossible to be recognised.
" Hollow " as they call it.