one thing we are never told
pictures taken in polaroid
have a way of fading over time

very much like you and me
and the picture we used to be
no longer has that kodachrome shine

it happens to the best of us
the color fade of wanderlust
bringing out the worst in black and white

one thing i'm relying on
although i'm barely hanging on
is the picture of us left in my mind.

An experience to be cherished
A way to escape all the odds.
A backpack filled of souvenirs
And a heart full of memories.
An alternative to some and
Mandatory for others.
Going a mile away or 100s
the triumph always remains.
It's the lens that captures the
moments and togetherness
Travel comes with serenity
As well as escapade
It's the best mean to
Find yourself all over again.
Whether its aimless or planned
The excitement never goes down.
The wanderlust of a traveller
Can’t be measured in numbers
It's the experience that counts.

Mountain top,
Riverside dreams,
Leaving behind
Places, people
As they blur through
Passing by
On a journey.

sometimes i wonder,
will this make me stronger?
the path that i’m taking,
will it be worth risking?
or do i stay in my comfort zone,
forgetting that not everything is set in stone.
sometimes i ponder,
maybe once in a while it’s nice to wander.

Eleuthoromania
Likes to hold my hand
Even when I tell it I am taken,
Unavailable, betrothed and affianced
Tethered to a man who bets with solid things.
He says precious stones and he means gems. But I,
(Oh silly child that I am,) I
Remember when precious stones were only
Ordinary rocks with mica threads that glinted in the light.
Money moves the world, though,
And I must move with it. I am in it, after all
Not above, dwelling in some cloud, no.
I am in it.
And this marriage of necessity will happen,
                                                               (whether I dream of it or not.)

He wants to shake the moss off his
back and leave the tadpoles behind.
They remind him of his misspent youth, and
wasted spring.  The blackbird sings of
blue skies, far off lands,
and the bullfrog dreams of flying.

I want to take
the fast train with you
and go far away from here.
~
Wǒ xiǎng gēn nǐ
zuò kuàichē
qù lí zhè'er yuǎn

We soak our travel-weary feet
Together in the deep end of a sea of clouds;
Take pause on the immortal steps
To inhale Yellow Mountain mist,
Coal dust, incense. Smokeless
Digital fireworks and sky-high butterfly facades
Sprout like corn stalks in autumn haze,
While we navigate this land of a billion characters
And more with only a phrase to go on,
Past the shops, libraries,
And reading rooms packed
With a literature only seen;
Poetic place names set
To a music only heard;
Guided by subtext, courteous,
And often as odd
As we find ourselves, on another side
Of a world only passing through.