Neither Oxford nor Webster shall refine
At ease but droll a sight as this:
Who would move and who would go?
I’m walking away, and I belong nowhere,
All the days and then the years pass,
From here, to there, patience sunk,
From nowhere, to everywhere I go.
So call me the fleeting bird departing,
So pronounce a new name, call me fleeting.
Nay, I am a wanderer. Wandering, walking;
Like wine, like K, give me all. Bit of it.
I shall snoop down my mind and crawl forth.
These webs, each thread is now a track,
Shoot each train my way. Nor yes nor no:
Say, will you travel again by my side?
No, you say? Very well. I’ll forget it all.
All the friends, the “family” – Gone.
These contacts? My Number? Gone.
Memories? Souvenirs? Gone.
A heart breaking? Never mind.
Neither land nor sea can change my sails.
I will blow the waves till no land is near,
Till all I fraught with little to no gain,
At which point, my existing is my land.
I’ll set foot at a new life, and new me.
All I had, so be it I am thus fleeting;
Then you’ll call a shrink my way here,
But my dear, I am nowhere here to be near;
From childhood I’ve been crept on and shut,
Imprisoned and sore were mine eyes at this,
So I devised a new plan to leave. Leave.
It seemed so amazing. I cried so happy-sad,
Now all I drank became that which I am,
A part of me, and I become the city,
So give me new, this much I am who as:
The sum of everything else. I see now,
There’s a trinkle of life by the sea,
But land is not enough. Nor people.
Just a travel. I’ll be French on one day,
Then German; then Italian, then Russian,
Oh, it’s a case of learning. But I’ll get.
Years later, I am still trembling with this,
I want you, but I cannot have you.
This land, this ocean speaks my name.
So whisper again. Now the light is soon,
I’ll be a lasting halo at twilight call,
When sun is set, then breathes so slow.

Life, Poetry, Works
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