These roads, they have never known peace.
“Quiet and calm”, no poet dares to gift these words to his lover.
Yes…his lover…the fuel to his art… Life.
My feet have sores, I walked barefoot for years…but I won’t dare to caress them…for…my rendezvous with this pilgrimage hasn’t borne any fruit yet.
Every lonely night, I stare at the stars and think. Aren’t we all travelers?… Vagabonds… The delusional vagabonds!!
No place called home has ever been warm enough for cold nights.
No lake could wash away the filth and dirt off our soiled silhouettes.
We, are all misers.
Life is a sorceress, we fall for its magic.
Life is the mistress in this facade of beauty.
A dawn ago… I halted to hear some songs of praise for her highness.
The singer hailed loud and clear,
“Everything “life” is beauty!
Everything “death” is beauty too!!”
My heart smiled and blurted out loud,
“Then why does my soul yearn for peace!?”