The Portrait of a Stranger

In the bustling crowd, where shadows blend,
I catch a glimpse of a face, a fleeting trend,
A stranger stands, lost in thought,
In the tapestry of life, a thread unwrought.

Her eyes, like windows, hold stories untold,
A flicker of laughter, a whisper of cold,
I wonder what dreams dance behind that gaze,
What joys and sorrows fill her days.

Perhaps she’s a painter, with colors to share,
Creating a world from the depths of despair,
Or a traveler, wandering far from her home,
With tales of the mountains, the seas she has roamed.

I see her hands, worn yet graceful, they move,
As if tracing the lines of a life to improve,
Each wrinkle a chapter, each scar a refrain,
A testament to love, to loss, to pain.

What laughter has echoed in her quiet room?
What heartaches have lingered, like flowers in bloom?
Does she dance in the rain, or sing to the stars,
Or sit in the silence, nursing her scars?

I imagine her mornings, the sun on her face,
The scent of fresh coffee, a moment of grace,
Does she pause to reflect, to savor the day,
Or rush through the hours, letting time slip away?

In the evening, does she watch as the sky turns to gold,
With dreams of tomorrow, and stories retold?
Does she gather her loved ones, share laughter and light,
Or find solace in solitude, wrapped up in the night?

I ponder her journey, the roads she has crossed,
The friendships she’s cherished, the ones that she’s lost,
Does she carry a burden, a weight on her chest,
Or find strength in the struggle, a path to her best?

In this moment, we’re strangers, yet somehow we’re one,
Two souls in the universe, under the same sun,
I feel the connection, a thread softly spun,
In the silence between us, a story begun.

For we all are portraits, painted in hues,
Of laughter and heartache, of choices we choose,
Each glance a reminder, each moment a chance,
To see in each other the beauty of chance.

So I stand here, observing, with wonder and grace,
The stranger before me, a mirror, a trace,
Of the lives we are living, the paths we have trod,
In the gallery of humanity, we’re all but a nod.

And as she turns, our eyes briefly meet,
A spark of connection, a heartbeat, a beat,
In that instant, I know, though our stories are strange,
We’re woven together, in this dance of exchange.

So I’ll carry her portrait, etched deep in my mind,
A reminder that beauty in strangers we find,
For in every encounter, a lesson we glean,
That we’re all just reflections of what might have been.

- Khushi Kaul