Some travelers bring solid joy or
at least
A curious shell or tales to
tell;
They love to go to new places
and scenes
Strain and stress they feel none
at all.
Some feel their trip a tiresome task
Something unavoidable and too
hard
A plaintive load as if they
left their heart
On some blue rock and missed;
The past like a retreating star
Mocks at their falling state;
For them no tales remain
But vexing hours and disturbing
strain.
They leave their lonely heart
Scalded like the stone under the
scorching sun.
For them to move means
courting pains
Nor can they stay lone like a
tree
A strange, strange mental
state
Hanging like a static cloud
pushed by gales;
For them no dynamic fleeting
colors
Ever
echo within their hearts
Which they had seen on the rim
of sparkling waves
Or yellow birds, green hills
or sylvan rills.
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3rd July, 2019 Somaseshu Gutala
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3rd July, 2019 Somaseshu Gutala
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