A sad story

He plays the guitar
And knows nine languages,
He's too smart for being  just a blogger,
And too precautious to be something more.

One more mistake
Of the 'all-seeing' government,
His good name is at risk

What can I do?
I make up a legend
With him as a hero
Who fights ghosts
At least in a virtual world.

We read forbidden books together
To fight illiteracy,
His name is less meaningful
Than his look -
Bright and curious,
Literally unstoppable.

Like a good friend,
Like a bad neighbour
He takes his guitar and starts playing,
And gods of rock'n'roll
Fly above us
On wings of restricted books
With beautiful myths
Of the Far East,
Of the Middle East
And South America.

Our journey is interrupted
By an elderly lady
Who tells us we look like addicts and perpetrators,
We tell the truth -
(We are bloggers)

And we keep playing and laughing

In the same house

A bit more quietly.

It's not even 3 a.m. when he says he needs to go,
And I feel inspiration leaves me,

I think of virtual maps,
Of aztecs and their intellect,
His face is a meme -
A self-ironic casual anti-hero,

And I lose track of him
And his colourful, avid mind.

(IQ145 - I take notes about the chap)

* Based on a true story