I was on a Journey once with stops every hour.
How did I travel?
May be in a train, a car or a Bike.
May be it was a motor boat,
that stopped at every sight of
something that belonged to the land;
but was loitering or floating in my route.

May be a bottle with a message.
May be a ball that could not sink.
May be a little shoe that the waves cradled up.

But every hour I must have stopped,
because it has been years and I am still traveling.
I don’t see it ending.
Not any time soon.

Even when the route seems narrowing,
I keep traveling.
Well thats life, for some,
at least for someone who I might know.

Categories: Poetry

Tags: Life, Traveling Journey