I am
a mis-fit little cardboard piece in an awe-some puzzle

I wrestle, zealously like Don Quixote,
I wrestle to fit.
I bruise as I bash my corners into the strange bends
of all the other player pieces,
I ache,
you see, I have rough edges- creak!
With perhaps, printed on my blue background
some cartoon-like picture of a
single green grass slightly at an angle
to show there is wind.

I growl
in a brawl with the overwhelming puzzle pieces,
I growl to fit.
But midway, I somehow, always,
like to quit,
I succumb to any kick.
They throw me miles away
out to a lazy empty space.

No brouhaha there, so void of challenge, no
battlefield
a soft cushion only
and myself,
O! So delightfully full of myself!

In that lonely cozy rest
I sink.
I hold my breath,
one, two, three, four...for as long as I can count
comfortably submerged with my gentle disfigured demons
my hazy under-water creatures,
I sink
for as long as I can sink.
And wish
I didn't have to resurface
that damn surfacing where I meet those overwhelming
puzzle pieces
and bang and bruise myself
while trying to
fit.

A misfit little piece I am
with a lonely green grass printed on my blue
background.

Leylanaz Shajii
Palo Alto, November 17, 2002

About the auhtor:
I'm an engineer who started to take writing seriously. "Stranger" is about a misfit. The feeling that sometimes clings on, after 3 immigrations, and the search for a lost sense of belonging. At the end, I find that at times, solitude becomes the most gratifying condition.