RIVULETS OF THOUGHTS - Cascading emotions

Wanderlust

After a series of poems with serious themes, I just thought I should write something light, I should probably wander off, away from the prominent spots of the mind. So here it is, a light hearted theme, hope you guys enjoy :)

"It sounds so far away and different. I like different places. I like any places that isn't here."

-Edna Ferber

The grass bed affectionately cradles me, as I lie facing the sky.

A sense of tranquillity hangs restfully, in the pollen rich spring-air.

The expected peace of it all, taunts me, haunts my spirit.

The sense of belonging, is ready to swallow me whole.

Fractured sunlight, sparkles and trickles through the crevices,

Through gaps between familiar leaves, of the known tree.

Spring-time, evident on the flower's warm-reflecting surface.

The routine familiarity of this warmth, urges my heart to flee.

Stagnation is putrid on the mind, inebriating even if it is serene.

For a spritely mind, beauty of the habitual place turns obscene.

Rivers have seen more world and life than stationary ponds.

I wish to flow, to grow a pair of adventurous-winged-feet.

Perhaps there are other paths, beyond these visible horizons.

I'd rather let my sails catch the sea-wind, be lured by the sirens.

I'd rather chase a storm or mermaids and crash into the rocks.

It is better than anchoring my ship; in the still-safety of the docks.

There is an aching-fire in my chest, longing for a strange land.

To see colossal hills dressed in snow, or expansive dunes of sand.

I know I have to go, as I dream of autumn and fallen maple leaves.

I dream about swathes of tulips, to climb on bundles of sheaves.

For years I have been beckoned, by the far edges my eyes reach,

The unknown mountain ranges and the clouds descending down.

Colours are alive, colours of desire, colours of places I want to go.

Colours of places never seen, Places I have only seen from here.

There must be paths, other paths; less beaten, less assured,

Winding or unwinding, steep or slippery, paths well lit up or dark,

Tangled or unfussy, paths with promenades or steep ledges,

Paths that spiral or unravel into everything, into nothingness,

Significant paths or unimportant, revered or forgotten paths,

Paths with just the right, wrong turns that might lead me to my destiny.

There must be places, that I have seen in my dreams,

Places heavy with mist, or washed and soaked in rain,

Places where they revere the winds, the rain and the sun,

Where the snow blankets alike, the fern, faun and the fallen,

A place, where I might stumble into a life I always dreamt of.

Into a real life, a place that might after all become a home.

Colours of where I have never been, colours that seem like home.

A wanderer is not lost, belongs nowhere; belongs everywhere.

Colours of the many horizons, in me they arouse a feeling of lust.

A deep emotion, that stokes the fire in my chest, of Wanderlust.

Colours of where I am not,

Of places where I might never go.

Colours of Wanderlust...

-Harish Vaid