Travel, in a way is my only sheath knife.
There is something about travel that makes me wonder Long roads, vast oceans or infinite skies that we fall under, Shining lights, wild nights to which we all surrender A Shadow of life, sharp knife...those sleek memories that we render. Moments ago, the mind was like a dead drop zone, Some reasons entangled, while others hidden unknown Before you realize, it turns into a trippy cyclone You may be on your own, But you're not alone. Emotions that furry with tears that run down your face Dream or Reality - Funny how they interlace Every turn, crossroad, escalator or an open space The Moment, a feeling that we all embrace. Sometimes you think its all about the people you meet Backstreet,backseat some discrete & some elite and then they say love is pure and neat Few would cheat, others make you complete. Looking outside the window of a tinted car those world war talks and an old guitar Chocolate cigar and a memory scar I wonder if we know who we really are All journeys have secret destinations of which the traveler is unaware It isn't surprising non rare a travelers life is a set of experience that he shares some are fair and the rest lands-up in despair Weird moment it is, when you can’t find a theory to prove the practicality of life. Travel,in a way is my only sheath knife.