The Loner

By Anant Kajaria

He is that mystic shadow you see from the corner of your eye. He cares not of what you think, moves ahead, oblivious and ignorant. He is your intrigue, yet he does not intrigue. He is not in search of love, elusive from the paradigm of emotion. A beer and smoke on the road, with dogs and dust running wild, he is at peace. Into the dark he disappears, before you could flinch your eye. He is where he is, yet nowhere to where you are. Like paralyzed placenta on a rustic shaft of wood, he is to be found in the world of yours. But in his utopia, he is the king of the throne of solitude. He wants to come out of darkness, but there are no lights in his world, not by chance, but by choice. His face, camouflaged by colors that you see, but there are no gray shades in his world. He will keep marching in his stride, his footprint invisible to you. Not that you don’t see, but cause he doesn’t care. He is what you aspire to be, but don’t consider. Because he is you in many ways, but only in thought, not vigor.

By Anant Kajaria