The Eye of a Stranger

At first it was curiosity and chance. Not the fulfillment of a dream, but the lazy stream of chance. And it was that chance that prepared the ground to turn it into a clean slate. It took a significant amount of liberalism and mindless youthfulness to have that taste for the new. But the novelty of the scenery bore the mark of strangeness and distance and maybe for the first time geographical distances had little to do with that feeling of separation. Not for the first time, that lyrical nature is thrown in the midst of a whirl of functionality, a victory of the working hands over the thinking mind. A time of profound challenge and the subsequent sense that in the midst of that loneliness of the self a self-sufficient hero had to emerge. That hero would wear silent clothes, would dress its braveness in meek words but a steady pace would always go along with it. And then there were mountains to be climbed and demons to be fought. But there's more than meets the eye, and the eye had to confront itself with matters whose inner nature shared few similarities with the obvious, the tangible.

In every move, in every passing street, the eye made a statement of its awkward presence. There were piercing looks, inquiring looks, lashing looks or even friendly looks, all bending under the weight of those silent whys. They'd sometimes abandon their heavy silence and then the eye would bow to confession, a non-cathartic confession for it all repeated itself to unfruitful ends. And even if it didn't repeat itself, that confession wouldn't necessarily equalize the inner world whose core was drenched in a sea of doubt. Like a faithful companion, solitude stopped by, in the close vicinity of the secluding doubt. There was solitude to keep him company and the shouting waves of the ocean, screaming sky-high. And in that tower of solitude, the eye looked upon the world. Myriads of judgments could be cast, but the eye knew, it'd be to no avail and unfair as well. Other eyes would look upon him with love, that wall-shattering inquiry, and many other eyes too, that would one day break the shells they lived into. But the eye had so much more to do other than breaking his own shell; others had their own shells as well. And in front of that revealing vulnerability, voices waver, looks go down in diffidence. But words, words flew, back and forth and where looks couldn't speak, words did. And their power humbled the heart and awakened it from it numbed indifference. And in the midst of shells and other outer coverings, the eye saw the veil drop and truth and fabricated genuineness coming apart. Blessed by a jarring silence.