Once I lived in a <br />village without strangers. <br /> <br />Every path I took, <br />each way I went <br /> <br />known faces frowned or smiled, <br />known voices spoke, <br /> <br />known gestures formed <br />their statements on the air, <br /> <br />and yet there was, I knew, <br />a secret life <br /> <br />scurrying within <br />familiar walls, <br /> <br />peering out from long-known <br />windows, hiding <br /> <br />darkly where each usual <br />corner turned, <br /> <br />but now I have no <br />sense of this. Encountering <br /> <br />strangers everywhere I go, <br />I grow <br /> <br />discomfited to feel they <br />have no secrets <br /> <br />they must hide from <br />knowing eyes and smiles <br /> <br />and long-familiar usages; <br />they are <br /> <br />themselves the secrets, <br />and that's not the same. <br /> <br />Blindly, they stare and <br />blindly I walk on.<br /><br />Robin Skelton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/unfamiliar/
