"Little feelings of the Black Prince"

THE SUITCASE

In the folds of forgotten maps, Where compass needles waver, Lies a life stitched together, In threads of transient wonder.

A suitcase life, nomadic and free, Carried across borders and seas, Its pockets hold memories, Of places unseen, yet deeply felt.

Each zipper conceals a story, A whispered secret, a silent plea, From cobblestone streets to desert dunes, The suitcase life wanders under moon.

It cradles souvenirs of sunsets, Pressed flowers from fleeting love, Postcards with ink that bleeds nostalgia, And dreams folded neatly, like origami doves.

The weight of wanderlust rests on its wheels, As it glides through train stations and airports, Seeking refuge in hotel rooms, Where solitude becomes a cherished companion.

The suitcase life knows no permanence, Only fleeting connections and transient dances, Yet it carries hope like a fragile crystal, Balancing on the edge of departure.

And when the seams begin to fray, When passport stamps fade into sepia, The suitcase life unfurls its wings, And takes flight once more, seeking the horizon.

For it understands that home is not a place, But a feeling etched in the heart, A melody played on strings of memory, A longing for the next adventure to start.

So here's to the vagabonds, the seekers, Whose lives fit snugly in worn leather, May your suitcase be light with dreams, And your journey be endless, forever.