Confessions of an Experiential Vagabond

If travels weren’t merely an exploration
Not just an addition to our repertoires.
Could they be a splintering of our souls?
We, who wander places lush with greenery
And dry with a blazing sun.
Surely a sliver of us is left behind
With the people we meet
And the lands we traverse.
For time to come, they will carry us – a spot.
A spot indiscernible to the birds’ eyes
And yet the routine continues.
The pain of separation all too familiar.
Were any harm to befall them,
Then the trauma would rush through us.
Into thousands, if our souls can withstand being split.
What else can it not endure?

– Meera