RedPaper.in – Poetry
By: Preeti Vyas | RedPaper.in
He is a traveler,
Forced to be one because of his inner desires,
Desire or those wants which kill you from inside,
If you don’t step forward to follow them.
He mostly lived in mountains,
Or in the dense woods,
Making his living, earning in the farms,
And the resting in his tent whenever he has gathered enough.
After years, he decided to go back home,
In the city where he has people, a lot of them,
Those voices of laughter and talks.
A lot of movements in the streets, wherever he looks.
These sounds of people,
Slowly turned into complaining voices,
Screaming people, people questing their existence,
People questioning their lives.
He then decided to go for a ride,
In the streets to feel the winds,
To his amaze the winds were all stale,
People honking harshly, often hitting his bike’s tail.
Why they are running, he is so confused,
The city doesn’t seem like to be his own,
It has all changed, all distorted,
Sounds are missing, noises coming at a toll.
He rode his way back to home,
To sit aside his window to draw,
Well, there is only single color he need,
Because it’s all concrete and poles.
He got confused between noises and the sounds,
Neither his music pleased him, nor the people around
He packed his stuff altogether,
And rushed for some place, to hear those missing sounds.