The Mysterious Stranger

The mysterious stranger, walking in life's underground, his eyes express indifference and his look unresolved. He walks between light and darkness, through his remembrances. There is no joy and there is no sorrow for him, he walks alone, and his secrets are dear to him. and each moment has a particular colour and he seeks to capture its hue. Sound is not the greatest meaning, and words not the greatest truth. And in a city full of strangers, he is the stranger. He is out of time and out of place with a certain kind of reality, the physical kind, the obvious kind. He walks alone and is conspicuous in his aloneness. The mysterious stranger walks in the dark and accepts its relationship with him. There is no imposition, no rebellion, no trying to make the world to come around to him. His eyes are tired and he senses the time of the ages. He feels and senses about the natural elements, he is in touch with creation and he is silent. Somewhere in the past has magnetised him and drawn him and wont give him the usual regular freedom. And he is close to freedom and he is close to not being drawn to attraction, whether negative or positive, but there is a power greater then even the mysterious stranger's, and he collides with antipathy.