The Travelers

There are places that once and often had crept into my mind
Through the crevices of the voids which always exist in each of my present moment
Whenever I ain't traveling.

I am so fond of traveling that when I ain't doing the places,
I do the thoughts, the people, the interests, and the perceptions
So much so that people have waited too long enough to see my stabilized and static state
Before turning disappointed and making a decision to leave or stay.

And whenever I am on any travel
I carry a pocketful of dreams
And at every stop I collect wings of hope
To carry them back with me
Which I nurture in return, and use them to flutter myself away
From the futile shadows of the past.

And with those pocketful of dreams, I seek out for
An uttermost and distantly beautiful mountain top
Entering the voyeurism of admiring
How sunrays embrace those snow-capped peaks
Creating a perfect union of scorching hot and frosty cold
Letting their emotions, their love flow through the melting glaciers
Turning into the spilling of over-brinked emotions as waterfalls
Causing an endless flow of rivers and seas
Not stopping until the love reaches its eternal mergence

Where another set of my dreams
Sit on the rim of the earth
And gaze into the imperceivable depths
From the place which you call centre of the horizon.

A Calling

They say that
If you want to see how you have been living through the years,
   go on an unplanned trip.

I don't choose my places to travel,
   they choose me.

I hear a calling, deep into my heart
Until I pack my bag, and just walk
   to a place unknown.

You know, how you see a place is how
   that place prefers to reveal itself to you.

And all that goes inside your heart
Reflects through your experiences in the outer world;
How you deal with it
   is the crux of how you deal with your life in general.

And what you take with you—
   the learnings, wisdom, memories, bondings
Stays with you forever.