Strangers

Every time I look inside myself,
a stranger stares me back.

A man whispers incomprehensible words to himself
and falls on the floor, eyes open, hands on the chest.

A man peeps into the shady galley of flesh
and glistens his lips with a lusty tongue.

A man walks on the rocky path where the ascetics
once traveled through to see a thing called "white light".

A man moves his fingers along the edges of a
firewood while an old cook shouts, "that's fire."

A man drives straight because he doesn't know
where to take a turn and when to exit.

A man watches a boy bleed to death on the street
while a caterpillar crosses his feet.

A man stabs his heart to feel the pain.

Sometimes, at midnight,
when you call,
the men shake hands
like the rivers mingle
in the depth of the ocean.