Neither is it a deja-vu
Nor an insomnia,
But I do feel strange.
I can smell through rain drops
And I can feel through winds,
A presence not so strange.
But I don't remember anything
Neither do I believe in after-life,
Who knows what's so strange!
I don't read stories
Yet when I hear ballads,
I recall some feeling; strange.
I do meet strangers
And I receive their warmth,
Still I miss something strange.
I think I've lost something
Too many pieces to gather maybe,
But even this place seems so strange!
But what is the most strange of all
Is this unease and helplessness,
When I'm at strange places
And it does not feel strange.
~ Unknown
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