Birds of Passage
Alone he goes to distant lands
His feet needs the warmth of different sands
Finds a nest wherever he goes
This is the life the poor soul chose.
In this tied up treadmill world
Where many life stories go untold
Unable to live the mainstream life and crumble,
He wanted to be a hidden stream in the jungle.
He strolled along a farm of daffodils,
The scene of countless stars it fulfills.
A dive in the deep blue brine,
Displays an ineffable beauty of the divine.
He could never leave anything behind,
Bagging every experience he could find,
And all he gets in his journey
Is a sense of blissfulness similar to a symphony.
Copyright © Vignesh Vishal | Year Posted 2018
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