Stranded “ships”

Aren’t good times a myth,
for they end?
Are the passers by in ones life
entitled to be called a friend?

Don’t all secrets turn
to useless facts,
making those in past,
mere artifacts?

Which bond comes
with a life-time validity?
Does “being in touch”
ensure real proximity?

How does one measure
how close are the hearts
when they could be like neighbours
living so close, and yet so apart?

What measures the reason
for damp eyes
How to tell if it’s joy
or the silent cries?

What tells that the smiles are real?
If everything’s about just the times
Don’t we all die a million times
before we say goodbye for real?

We’re all flying..
like kites in the sky
Forgetting what for..?

We laugh within limits
and cry when we must
We shake hands as a norm
And interact
like its a ritual to perform.

In all this
where are we gone?

How do we trust
when its ourselves
that we deceive..?
How do we just be..
with nothing else to sieve..?

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