I am walking plain roads, but leaving my steps behind;
reasons, or wants — but quarrels and love in all.
Never a pearl, nor less than any precious memory —
yet I am lost in a garland of them.
“O you, the traveler of memories — where do you stop, and shed your nights in the same place?”
A silent way ahead, but at the cost of what?
Maybe some lost friends,
maybe some buds of love,
or just a few pieces of my own soul,
lost on the highway of it all.
I am travelling on plain ground, to leave a few more steps behind,
hoping to last this journey with the known;
but the steps of the day outlast the thirst of my every moment —
joyous in nothing ahead, again, but these steps I have walked down.
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