Day 73: Men of words

I have been pondering on this idea since I last wrote and in between conversations with friends and colleagues alike. The idea that there comes a time when you realize that your persona is allowing you to live multiple lives in the ways you communicate. You are someone comforting on the phone when you listen to people for hours and yet busier than ever in real life, you are someone else who is always quick to reply to every text message and is yet forgetful of conversations you had , you are a voice on the other side of the phone , who can sing and talk and yet in reality you love the idea of fading out in the crowd. For whatever be the reason, I wanted to write to these men, I call them Men of Words so aptly for they exist but in ways I cannot hold. In time I have seen people falling in love with this different bits and pieces, maybe the part of me which writes poetry, the part that sketches and sometimes simply me. For now the loss of the lovable self seems worth expressing, for now I am simply a man of words to you.

Men of Words
There were often times of realization, but it took me a while,
That people have kept their daily lists of things to, and their polished smile
They have fallen for bits and pieces of me, not me as a whole
That they have been familiar only with the part of me that they hold

The pieces of the puzzle still, a dreamer, a singer, a writer unbound,
I am lost in between the many of me, and among the anguish that no is looking for "me" to be found
My identity but often blends into thin air, I become whatever you want me to be,
A friend, a listener, a confidant, I am molded by nothing more than your own free will.

Hope you find solace in your heart, these Men of Words will come and go,
And then there will be some who will care and yet these are the ones who will never show
They are wherever you want them to be, they are in the places in between, & in spaces in your mind,
In between phone calls on your cellphone, in scribbled poetry on your desk, and in whatever place that you could find

These Men of Words work late at night, they come and go,
They are almost like fiction of the many worlds, they all exist but as a whole they lie unknown.
There are some night like today, when my tired soul finds itself unbound,
And in my poetry tonight, these men of words come alive; like reality that is written but no where to be found

I wish I could take a bow from time to time, though I fear the world may think I only perform,
I come to you as real as I can be, just the whole of me for now shall remain unknown
I would write to these Men of words sometimes, they have done a good job from time to time,
They have created a world to live in imagination still, and yet they are forgotten pieces of mine.