Republishing something i wrote two years back
Distant, untrodded virgin lands teasingly beckon the wanderlust bug to its unfathomable treasures.
The sensory touch of forest leaves…
The sight of green hues contouring blue skies tempt the aspiring nomad…
The instance where only time and space exist,
Wafts the drifter to the journey which lives its destination every moment.
It stirs, in my soul, an aching desperation to refrain from the mundaneness of this
solitary confinement.
The sensory touch of forest leaves…
The sight of green hues contouring blue skies tempt the aspiring nomad…
The instance where only time and space exist,
Wafts the drifter to the journey which lives its destination every moment.
It stirs, in my soul, an aching desperation to refrain from the mundaneness of this
solitary confinement.
2 comments:
The cries of a soul caught in the concrete maze.
Been there, done that, feel that...
each passing day....
Btw, very well written, I must say!
the soul is actually discovering its real identity.
and that's the only way out of the being bound by feeling such a thing each passing day.
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