The People We Meet.

The people we meet.

The People We Meet 

The people we meet 

Down the street, running late, 

Across the block, a new neighbor just moved in. 

At dinner banquets, celebrating friends, creating friends 

Or in the hospital corridor, wincing in pain— 

We meet here, 

Acquaint there. 

These people we meet, 

perhaps for the first and last time, 

their paths brushing ours 

like whispers of wind in a crowded sky. 

By a whisk of chance, 

our lives touching— 

a fleeting glance, a shared laugh, 

or a silence heavy with unspoken meaning. 

Yet, beneath each face, 

a world unfolds, unseen. 

A billion stories, 

billions more, 

being lived, 

being written in the invisible ink of time. 

Some stories burn bright, 

etched with joy that spills like sunlight. 

Others stagger, burdened by sorrow, 

pausing mid-sentence in the shadow of grief. 

Some stories scattered with commas, 

hesitations, breaths of doubt, 

while others rush forward, 

fueled by dreams, by wishes, by dares. 

And some, 

some are near their final chapter, 

their stories drifting toward an unseen end— 

the last sentence forming, 

the last word lingering, 

before the full stop quietly arrives. 

We pass each other, 

carrying the weight of these untold tales. 

We cannot see them, 

cannot read the pages pressed beneath the skin, 

Behind the smiles, 

Behind the handshakes, 

Behind the hearty talk 

but they are there, 

quietly printing themselves 

into the great manuscript of life. 

What a wonder it is, 

this silent symphony of stories. 

Each thread so delicate, 

yet woven together 

to form the sprawling tapestry of existence. 

When we meet, 

do our stories bend, intertwine? 

Do they whisper secrets to the fabric of time? 

Or do they part, 

leaving only a faint echo 

that lingers like the scent of rain? 

In the end, 

these billions of stories— 

yours, mine, theirs— 

all flow into one. 

A single story of life, 

written moment by moment, 

fragile, infinite, unfinished. 

EzroniX Poetry.