From within the vaults of the lost soul arises;
an uncontrollable desire to explore what has been forgotten.
A home which was once its own and the people who were its kin.

On its way back, Under the blazing sun it stands, as a witness to life of men:
And in silent thoughts, the observer becomes the observed,
Witnessing its own life; melting like the blue sky on the world.

Like the wind it was and with the old trees it had fallen in love.
And there was a strange familiarity with them, for it.
Like when the river meets the ocean and pours itself into it,
Or as an old pilgrim finally finds his destination of life.

As every river finds home in its ocean,
So does every soul finds solace in its people.
And when memories are made and the world has been conquered in spirit,
One only realizes that journeys end only back at home.

-The Silent Poet