Temporary Identity

When I'm not me,
When I'm somebody,
Wandering in the skies,
Nostalgically.

Clearing the heavens,
Selecting the stars,
For the sole reason of,
Absolute nullity.

Walking with some,
Talking with others,
With complete absence of,
Insignificant personality.

No hopes, no dreams,
As state of mind of,
No assiduity,
Speaking the words,
Mutely.

Disturbance is never a cause,
It is the consequence of the
cognitive process to barricade attention.
Speaking figuratively.

So how do you define the feel, when
Hundreds of leaves of the Maple trees
lined up in the fall, on the street.
The state of mind, unconsciously.

A great art makes you think,
Supposedly.
Trying to make your eyes blink,
Obnoxiously.

No reiterate, no repetition,
No retelling of once told old story,
After all, it's all chaos around,
Starting randomly, ending bizarrely.

And there it lies,
At the brink of pattern
which follows all through randomness.
Creating cosmos, creating certainty.

So this is the irony:
Incongruity between what might be
expected and what occurs actually.
Reshaping the past, ironically.

Making of reality unexpectedly,
but nothing is likely, satirically.
With no cherry on top,
brings you despair, happily.

The sudden realization, deplorably,
The instant loss of intellect, woefully.
The closure of eyes, epical regretfully,
When I'm me, not somebody.