The wanderer’s fear

hi

We humans of many places

with roots in many soils

and hearts torn and divided

into thousands of pieces for all

the people we have loved,

we wanderers

are conflicted not only in the many

paths our feet have to choose

to walk upon

but also in the timeliness of our

departures.

It is easy for humans to become short-sighted and forget

the enormity of our lives,

future and past,

forgetting that although the magnitude of

the present overwhelms all memories and hopes,

it is the ungraspable idea that

life will always be in the present tense,

and the experiences we are

yet to have will be just as

heart-wrenching,

soul-satisfying,

mind-gratifying.

I can testify with hand over heart

that love is the most blinding drug of all –

what hope have we then

us lovers of life?

Are we condemned to stumble

unseeingly

through the ravines and mountain passes

and gentle forests and

brown untraveled paths we come across?

Or is the beauty of this conundrum

that the blindness of love

does not dim one’s senses,

but heightens them to a godly state wherein

mere colours are now technicolour,

and instead pulls a sheet over the mundanity,

the things not worth paying attention to anyway?

But being in love with the present,

the places but most importantly the

people one stumbles across unexpectedly

(for the best people are always those we least expect in our lives)

anchors the heart and sinks it at

the thought of moving on to the next place,

there is always a next place,

we cannot stay here long,

the road is calling,

new friends and lovers and

mountains and adventures

are summoning you and your backpack.

And like any addict we eventually cave

to our vice and gleefully

give ourselves wholly

to the greatest love affair of our lives;

travel.

But what about those left behind?

For there are always people we will

regret to leave,

who will occupy our hearts for the rest of our lives

even if we knew them for a month,

or maybe our exchange was a few simple words,

or a brief kiss,

or a surprised glance as one

glided past on a bus.

Even if we never see them again,

those people as we knew them

in that exact moment,

cut out of time and glued into

our scrapbook of life,

will forever be there for us,

the invisible friend always by my side.

I, with my itching feet, know

that I must not hesitate too long for fear

of leaving the people I love,

but that’s all that matters anywhere in the world.

I can’t help believing that

I will never find any people better than these I know.

Naivety, I call myself a

well-travelled person and continue thinking this.

I know there is no rank of goodness for

each person I meet,

step I take,

sky I see,

experience I savour.

All are equal in perfection.

I henceforth vow to let no fear possess me,

and I will walk onwards in my blind trusting

love of life knowing that only ever

greater things

will come

to me.

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