I asked him,
“So what is that you do?”
He took a deep breath and then smiled,
His lashes down, he whispered
“I listen to the music of the bushes
You see the mountains there?
I witness its conversation with the raging breeze,
I jot the rant of the restless sea,
I compose the rhythm rejoicing the love of the birds,
I script verses appreciating the tendrils’ curls,
I sing songs of empathy to the lonely castles,
I overhear the gossips of the old chapels.
I live beneath the night with my blanket being my solitude,
Waiting for the dawn eagerly to explore new latitudes”
He smirked and then continued, “It’s the memories that paint the dates on my calendar,
I am a lost wanderer a curious traveler”